The Next Warrior's Hand
by Sadie Sil - English stories
Summary: Young Elrohir lives an adventure he will never forget. (Complete)
1. The Desire to Grow

**Title: THE NEXT WARRIOR'S HAND**

_**Author****: **Sadie Sil_

_**Beta:** Mystery Maiden and Puxinette_

**Genre**_**: **__Angst/Adventure_

_**Rating: T**_

_**Time line**__**:**_Early Third Age. The twins are still as teenagers.

_**Disclaimer****: **I didn't create any of these wonderful characters. I've just borrowed them from the Professor, devoting them all my love. Now I feel they are also a little bit mine, but I am sure the good Professor won't mind sharing them with me._

_My own characters in this story are: Lady Idhrenniel (a female healer de Imladris), Beinion, Angahor, Arnamo, Séretur, Cúndur, Earon, Varyar, Laston, Túro e Hérion (pupils from Imladris and friends of the twins) and others who eventually appeared here and there**.**_

_**Important Notices**__**: **__To write the story I've used some references. The excellent biographies and articles of Valinor (a Brazilian site) were my main source. Besides it, The Children of Húrin, a Tolkien's story adapted superbly by his son Christopher, is also the center of my idea. That makes my text a kind of _"_spoiler_"_ of the book in some parts. I'm sorry about it. However, some facts are just my own ideas; mixing facts of the books and my crazy imagination in something I think it would be interesting. Hope you think the same._

**Vocabulary:**

_**Ion – son**_

_**Ionath – children - sons**_

_**Ield - daughter**_

_**Ada – dad (familiar/informal)**_

_**Adar – father (formal)**_

_**Nana – mom (familiar/informal)**_

_**Naneth – mother (formal)**_

_**Daerada – grandpa (familiar/informal)**_

_**Daernana – grandma (familiar/informal)**_

_**Daerion - grandson**_

_**Tithen-pen – little one**_

_**Pen-neth – little one**_

_**Astalder – The brave one**_

_**-nín – my**_

**_Obs: The expressions El-nín and Rohir-nín are nicknames which Celebrian used to call her sons. – Something like – _"_my star_"_, and _"_my warrior_"_._**

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><p><strong>CHAPTER I - THE DESIRE TO GROW<strong>

_ I only have two hands and the feeling of the world._

**Carlos Drummond de Andrade (a Brazilian writer)**

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><p>When Elladan walked down the staircase outside in search of his brother, he realized that his instincts had led him to the right place.<p>

"Finally..." he muttered to himself, leaping the last steps and running toward his twin, who was crouched beneath an oak.

Elrohir quickly concealed what he had in his hands in a large piece of cloth.

"What do you have there?" Elladan asked.

"Nothing," answered the other elfling, petulantly. "Where have you been? Did you spend all morning with _Ada_ again?"

"I told you where I would be," Elladan argued, not understanding his younger brother's bad mood. "You do not like dealing with _Ada_'s herbs and salts, so I did not waste my time calling you."

"You always stay there all the morning."

"These experiments take time. _Ada_ always says that you should follow everything from start to finish; it doesn't matter how long it takes," explained the young elf. Elladan sat heavily on the ground beside his brother, but kept his eyes fixed on the object that was being hidden from him.

"I know..." Elrohir replied, but he didn't seem convinced. Silence filled the spaces of what was left of their conversation. Neither of them said anything for several minutes, and it began to make Elladan uneasy. He scowled, already aware that something was odd.

"Are you angry because I could not train this morning, Ro? I told you that _Ada_ had reserved that time for me this week."

"I'm not angry."

"I can train with you now. Shall we?"

The younger twin let a disdainful sound escape from his lips, shrugging.

"I'm tired of training with wooden swords. We are already adults."

Elladan twisted his lips, recognizing the old complaints and lamentations that Elrohir had been repeating as a mantra recently, a discourse that was leading everyone around him to despair.

"Glorfindel said we cannot deal with other swords yet. We are not tall enough to use a real sword."

"We are the tallest in our class. We have grown faster than everyone else."

"But it's still not enough. Our mentor said we must be at least _Nana_'s height and we are not yet at the height of her shoulder."

Elrohir clicked his tongue again, angrily crossing his arms over bent legs.

"Glorfindel said he was younger than us when he began to carry a sword."

"That's true. He also said he has never regretted telling something to someone as much as he regrets having told you this," recalled the elder twin. "It was another time, Ro. He explained that to us, remember? We can wait. He already gave us heavier swords than our companions. The training is even harder now."

"Harder..." muttered Elrohir scornfully. "Those swords are ridiculous... I hate wooden swords... they look like children's toys."

Elladan let out a sigh of discontent; Elrohir and his fixed ideas. The elder twin gave up arguing, which was always the wisest decision, concerning his brother's radical ideas. He finally looked again at the object hidden by his twin.

"Will you tell me what you have there?"

"It's nothing."

"Then why don't you want to tell me what is it?"

"Because I don't want to. You do not understand what I say anymore, and you're always siding with _Ada_ and Glorfindel. So it is useless sharing anything with you."

Elladan was surprised by his twin's accusation; until that moment he had not noticed that his conciliatory attitude was creating that kind of feeling in the younger brother.

"What do you mean? I... I do not do that, Ro. I do not side with anyone other than you."

"Of course you do! Just yesterday you repeated to _Daerada_ the same speech Glorfindel tells us every day."

"Because _Daerada_ has asked me how the training was..."

"And you quickly told him we were still training with those stupid wooden swords!"

Elladan was silent, not trying to defend himself. Actually he didn't understand why his brother was so angry with him.

"What should I have said?" he finally asked.

"Forget it," Elrohir replied, with lips still twisted in dissatisfaction. "You always do what you should do. You always do everything right..."

Elladan frowned. "That is not wrong, is it?" he asked. He was surprised to see his brother put his things together and stand up, carrying what he was trying to hide. Rising slowly, Elladan watched in disbelief, as Elrohir walked quickly away.

"You don't have what I think you do, do you?" he finally asked. Elladan was afraid to contemplate what his mind was visualizing.

"It's not your business what I have here. Why don't you go to look for your plants with _Ada_?"

Elladan's jaw dropped, surprised by his brother's aimless attack. He even took a few steps, but gave up following him. Whatever was happening, he knew Elrohir well enough to know it was a waste of time trying to argue with him in his current state of mind.

It was past nightfall when Elrohir entered his bedroom. Elladan, who was in his bed with a large book in his hands, tried to disguise the surprise of finally seeing his brother at the end of the day.

"Where were you, Ro? _Ada_ kept asking me about you during dinner."

"So it was good you did not know where I was," Elrohir replied sharply, undressing as he headed to the hall bath. "If you knew, you would have told him. You cannot keep your tongue inside your mouth."

Elladan snorted then, almost reaching the limits of his patience with his brother's provocation. He threw book and covers aside and followed the other elfling into the next room. When he entered, Elrohir was completely submerged in the bathtub. Elladan sighed impatiently; waiting for his brother to come up again. It was one of the youngest twin's habits: to test, whenever possible, how long he could stay underwater holding his breath. Each day that limit extended a bit.

"You talk as if I would tell everything about you to anyone who turned up," complained the firstborn, as soon as his brother's face rose, gasping for air.

"Not everybody," the young elf corrected, rubbing the water from his eyes. "Just those who ask you."

This time Elladan did not respond, his patience finally exhausted. He just watched as his brother finished the bath and dried himself, as if he were not there. When Elrohir threw himself in his own bed, already in his nightclothes, the older twin felt that he had endured too much.

"When are you finally going to tell me what I did wrong?" Elladan asked in all sincerity.

"Why?" Elrohir said with feigned disinterest. He picked up a book on his bedside table and then abandoned it after reading merely the title.

"Because I do not know what I did, and if you do not tell me, I am going to continue doing it without knowing," replied the other angrily.

"You did nothing." Elrohir then lay down; pulling the covers over his body and moving to blow out the candles. Elladan picked up the candlestick before his brother reached it and walked a few steps away.

"Come on. Blow it out. I want to sleep," Elrohir protested.

This time it was the oldest brother who pretended to ignore what he heard, refusing to extinguish the light illuminating his quite dissatisfied face. Elrohir returned the look of discontent for a while, and then dropped his arms on the bed.

"Very well, I will tell you. But if one word of what I say here walks out that door, no matter the reason, I will never speak to you again."

Elladan lowered the candle a bit, and then he approached again, putting it back in place and sitting on the bed beside his brother. Elrohir looked at his twin's irritated face, considering whether he dared take the path of telling Elladan what he wanted to know, and if he did, how far he could go.

"I do not go around telling others everything you tell me, Elrohir," emphasized the oldest, his face showing his irritation, and his tone no longer civil.

"No. Just what I do wrong."

"I do not do that..." protested the older brother, even more emphatically than before. "Sometimes luck is against us, and someone comes and asks me... So I... I do not know what to say. I'm not good with lies like you are."

Elrohir pressed his lips together, his eyes wandering to the white ceiling. Elladan was silent, merely shaking his head, showing just how annoyed he was with Elrohir's foolish behavior. Then he turned again to his brother, suddenly aware of the reason for all the mystery.

"Oh, Elrohir. What have you done?"

"Why do you think I have done something?"

"Because you have. You have, and you want to tell me, but you think I am going to tell someone else, don't you?"

Elrohir did not answer, and Elladan wished he had confronted Elrohir, when this idea had first occurred to him. He'd known that his brother's silence and dark mood hid something.

"It has to do with what you were trying to hide from me today, hasn't it?"

Elrohir curled his lips, but a slight blush on his face betrayed him.

"What is it? What do you have hidden?" Elladan insisted, worried now. Then, facing more silence as an answer, he grabbed his brother's arm, making him finally look at him. "Come on, Elrohir! Tell me at once what it is!"

"You said you knew what it was," dodged the twin, and Elladan turned pale immediately, feeling the hope that he could be wrong suddenly abandon him.

"_Elbereth_!" exclaimed the young elf, closing his eyes, trying to escape from the image his mind has formed. "Where did you get it?"

Elrohir looked away to the curtains of the room, swinging in the breeze, but a sly smile was already lifting the corners of his lips.

"Near the smithy," he said, trying now to disguise his satisfaction of saying that.

Elladan curved his eyebrows, reading the traces of his brother's face like no other could do. Soon he understood the situation. He knew very well what was involved when the younger twin gave that smile.

"What do you mean? Lord Angatal leaves no swords thrown in the trash..." he said, puzzled. After that, a frightening thought occurred to him. "Did you steal one, Elrohir?"

The twin scowled heavily, now looking right at his brother.

"Who do you think I am, _Toron-nín_?" he replied sharply. But Elladan was not intimidated by the youngest twin's sudden retort and continued to look at him, as if waiting for the end of a story that he already knew he wouldn't like. "It was an old rusty sword that the soldiers found in the forest. It does not have a decent tip."

Elladan felt his jaw drop.

"I know what it is... It is huge, Elrohir! Lord Angatal said he would reform it..."

"He cannot do that. It has no owner to authorize the process. Remember? Every sword has its owner, and nobody can handle it without the permission of the owner or someone of equal rank. It is what Lord Angatal always says."

"He said he would ask _Ada_'s permission."

"Yes, but _Ada_ thought it would be better not to deal with it. I heard him talking with Lord Angatal. I did not quite understand why, but in the end he advised the blacksmith to bury it."

"And you dug it up?"

"It was nobody's."

"Of course it was. You just do not know who the owner is."

"_Ada_ said the owner must be dead, so the blade was abandoned. Probably he had fallen in some battle or ambush a long time ago. He does not need the sword."

"Elrohir... How can you say that? Have you forgotten everything they taught us? A person's weapon is sacred. If he or she does not give anyone the right to use it, it must be buried with or without the owner... unless there are any descendants who might speak out for the right of wielding it... Erestor told us that, too, remember?"

"That's folly." Elrohir rose quickly, starting to pace in the bedroom. "A sword with a broken tip, totally rusty like that... Who would care?"

"And if it was our _Daerada's_?" Elladan argued, still sitting on the bed, but twisting his body to follow his brother's movement around the room.

"What do you mean? _Ada_ would recognize it if the sword were our _Daerada's_. What nonsense are you talking about?"

"And what do you think _Ada_ would do if he had recognized our grandfather's sword?"

"I do not know! It depends..."

"Depends on what?"

"It depends!" The twin was annoyed then, finally realizing what his brother was getting at. "There are a lot of things he could want to do..."

"Among them would be giving the sword to an inexperienced young elf to handle," Elladan completed. He closed his eyes, when he realized his sarcasm might be lost on Elrohir. This was a dangerous argument to hand to his twin, who was just looking for any excuse to keep the sword.

The look Elrohir offered him as a response only confirmed his conjecture.

"I will treat the weapon with respect," argued the youngest. "I will not take it to kill insects or anything like that, as the small ones do with their wooden swords!"

"It is not yours, Elrohir." Elladan rose. "You cannot do anything with it, not even to try out the little you have learned about blacksmithing on it."

Elrohir's eyes flew open, unable to hide his surprise. Having a twin brother, who knew him so well, was often too inconvenient.

"Who told you that I did that?" the youngest said, trying vainly to defend himself.

"Your eyes are telling me this - and even things worse," accused the elder. "And we will get in trouble like we have never been in since we were born, _Toron-nín_."

Elrohir blushed again, but this time it was anger that colored his cheeks. He snorted indignantly then and stood, shaking his head.

"Orc's breath, Dan, that's why I do not tell you anything anymore. You have this adult way of speaking which is intolerable."

Elladan also shook his head, but for a different reason than his brother.

"Do you realize that by saying this you are practically admitting that you still want to stay in the world of those who are _not_ adults, Elrohir?" he said, and received the worst look he had ever gotten from his brother. Even so, Elladan was not intimidated, taking a step forward and grabbing his brother's left arm.

"Come on, let's put the sword where you found it. We will make a solemn apology to its former owner, and so, luckily, we will be free from anything bad that it can bear."

Elrohir pulled his arm free, turning to walk away. "I do not know why you are putting the situation in the plural like this," he said. "If the sword has some curse, you need not fear for your neck, _Toron_. I made the silly mistake; whatever it will bring, it will reach only me and not you."

Elladan pressed his lips together tightly, and then sighed.

"Do you really think that what happens to you does not affect me at all?" he asked in a sad tone. Elladan suddenly realized why Elrohir's words were so displeasing to him. "Why do you want to move us away from each other, _Toron_-_nín_?" he asked. "Am I becoming so unbearable for you?"

Elrohir did not answer, nor did he look at his brother. A long period of silence passed, until the youngest brother's eyes became strained, trying to see why his twin still had not moved. In Elladan's face there was no specific answer, however; the sadness in him was not exactly something Elrohir could ignore.

"I do not want you away from me," The younger twin finally said, standing up a bit straighter. "I just miss the time when you did not question the things I did as you do now."

"If I do that it is because I am afraid for you, _Toron_," the other justified himself, dropping his shoulders. "You are very impulsive. You do things without thinking, and then you feel sorry and I... I do not like to see the way you look when you are sorry... It is very sad."

Elrohir locked his jaw, grinding his teeth, biting back the angry words that were ready to jump out of his mouth. He knew that his brother was right, but he just could not admit it.

"They force me to do what is wrong," he said then. "What does it cost them to give me the sword I wanted?"

Elladan frowned again, his mouth dropping open, as though he could not believe what he was hearing.

"Did they force you? But what is this nonsense, Elrohir? You know you cannot have the sword now. You know why. They have explained everything. They have not simply said '_No and this is the end of conversation'_. You are reacting like a child."

"And you are defending them! Do you see? That's why I do not tell you anything. You do not understand me anymore!" Elrohir said angrily. He grabbed some clothes from the wardrobe and headed to the door.

"Where are you going?

"I am going to sleep somewhere else!" his brother said. "I do not want to be with you anymore. Tomorrow I will ask for a room of my own. Maybe this they will be able to give me."

Elladan froze, unable to think of a response. But then he was startled by the noise of the slamming bedroom door.

That night, however, he did not sleep, but spent hours sitting on his bed, trying to quell a very bad feeling growing in his chest - a feeling of sadness like he had never felt before.


	2. Impatience

Thanks a lot to people who are reading. Hope you like this. Please review.

Sadie

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><p><strong>CHAPTER II<strong>** – IMPATIENCE**

_"__Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one._

_Benjamin Franklin _

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><p>Early in the morning Elladan got dressed and went downstairs looking for his brother. He could accept that Elrohir was angry with him, but was still worried about what his twin would do with the sword that didn't belong to him.<p>

"_Quel amrun, El-nin!_" His mother's soft voice found him on the last step, but her smile soon turned into a look of concern. "Why do you seem so troubled, _tithen-pen_?" She bent a little to look at the child closely. "Didn't you sleep well last night?"

Elladan pressed his lips together in indignation. This was something the two brothers always had agreed on: Their mother had to stop treating them as two elflings.

"It's nothing, _Nana_," he replied without looking at her. "Have you seen Ro?"

Celebrian pressed her lips into a thin line, and then placed her hand on her son's shoulder, stroking it slowly.

"Have you had an argument?" she asked.

Elladan let out a depressed sigh that, by itself, already reflected the answer to his mother's question.

"I haven't seen him since I got up, _ion-nin,_" she said then. "Do you want me to help you find him?"

"No, thanks, _Nana_..." Elladan replied, already moving away.

"Don't you want to tell me what happened, Elladan?" Celebrian asked, wanting to help her sons settle their conflict, whatever it may be. The older twin shuddered. It was really rare for his mother to call her children by their names, and when she did so - as she was doing now, without any warning tone - a sense of gravity was aroused. He then turned toward her, his expression matching that of his even more worried mother.

"I… cannot tell you, _Nana_..." He was sincere, knowing that if anyone could understand him, the person would be his mother. "But everything is going to be alright... Please, don't worry... "

Celebrian pressed her lips together, silent for a moment, and then she leaned closer to him, running her fingers through her son's dark hair.

"If he is in any trouble, get him out of it before your father finds out," she advised with a worried smile. "Don't forget that my father is here as well, and he is even less tolerant than yours, _ion-nín_." The young elf shuddered again, increasing his mother's worry, which she was desperately trying to hide.

Elladan bowed discreetly in farewell and walked out the front door, leaving Celebrian's heart full of mixed feelings. Suddenly her children looked so grown up and mature, yet they were still so unprepared for the storms of life.

It took almost half a day for the elder twin to finally find his brother. Elrohir was in one of the small abandoned caves carved in the cliffs surrounding Rivendell. He was not overjoyed when he saw who had managed to find him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, and he quickly covered the weapon he had been working on with the same cloth that he'd had before.

"I do not believe you are doing that, Elrohir." Elladan approached, incredulous, but his twin stood in front of him, compromising any view he could have of the work the younger elf had done. "You cannot handle a weapon which does not belong to you, Elrohir."

"Yet I have already," said the other, pushing his brother to keep him away. "I had already begun; I could not leave the job half finished."

Elladan was surprised, now looking at all the things his brother had brought to the place. The cave was larger inside than the impression its tight and hidden entry gave. Elrohir improvised a hot oven in one of the flaws of the stone, brought in a large barrel of water and other tools, and had managed to turn that little cave into an improvised smithy. The older twin looked at everything silently. In fact he was torn between his admiration for Elrohir's tremendous effort and skill, and the intense uneasiness that this situation made him feel. He finally shifted his gaze again to the hidden weapon, before looking at his brother once more, whose face was indecipherable.

"How does it look now?" Elladan asked, unable to contain his curiosity. Elrohir hesitated a few moments, but then his lips slowly rose and that same sly smile came over his face. One of Elladan's brows rose, along with his interest.

"Come and see," Elrohir said, rushing them toward the place where the sword lay covered. Elladan approached, afraid, but when Elrohir uncovered the piece, Elladan's jaw dropped, leaving his mouth wide open.

"_Elbereth_," he said. "Is this the sword the patrol found?"

"Yes, it is." Elrohir smiled proudly, seemingly satisfied with his twin's expression of surprise.

Elladan took a deep breath; he never imagined that an old and worn weapon could be so transformed in the hands of someone as inexperienced as his brother.

"You did a masterful job, Elrohir," he heard himself saying, still looking to the beautiful piece, whose brilliance seemed to shine through the entire cave. "How did you learn to do that?"

"I was a few days looking at the work of the blacksmith and repeating it here every morning when you were with _Ada_."

Elladan looked at him, surprised.

"So you have been hiding this plan for many days!" he deduced; and the shocked and disappointed tone of his voice made his twin's smile disappear. Elrohir just shrugged, holding the hilt of the sword without taking it from its place. Elladan bit his lip in the corner of his mouth, not knowing what to say, what to advise. He knew that even with a nice job like that, they still had violated an important rule, which they had full knowledge of. And knowing completely the gravity of what they had done only made things worse. Soon Elrohir's eyes could read the concern on his brother's face.

"I am going to get in trouble, I know," he admitted. "But it was worth it..." he added, now looking at his reflection in the blade.

Elladan's face grew serious again as he repeated to himself word for word what Elrohir had said. Then he placed his hand over that of his twin, the hand in which Elrohir held the sword, giving it a squeeze to show his support.

"Let's bury it."

"No way."

"Let's bury it, Ro!" Elladan insisted, even when his brother pushed him again, away from the weapon. "They will find out ..."

"They won't find out."

"They will. And we will be punished."

"You will not be punished. You have no guilt."

"Of course I have. I know everything."

"You just have to say you did not know. You haven't even touched anything."

"I can't lie!" Elladan said in a strong and agonized voice, and the brightness in his eyes was so intense this time, that Elrohir had no choice but to confront him.

"You don't have to say anything, Dan! I'm sick of having to repeat that to you. If someone asks you, just do not say anything ... I won't take the weapon out of here—I promise. I will only train with it here in the cave. "

"Train with it? Are you mad, Elrohir? Look at the size of that weapon! Look at the edge you gave it! I can feel its weight and danger from here! You cannot use it, not even for fun."

"I won't use it for fun. I will train with it. You know I can. I just need to get used to the weight of it."

Elladan shook his head now, almost in despair.

"By the _Valar_, Elrohir... Think about what you are doing. It's so wrong that it's impossible this story is going to have a happy end. You stole a sword from its grave, you faked its metal and turned it into a different weapon from what it was, you did not inform anyone, and now you want to train with it without any preparation or the approval of our mentor. You cannot do that. You must stop, Elrohir," he ended, even more desperate as he watched his twin's reaction to his words—just a slight negative shake of his head.

"These traditions are just silly, Elladan," Elrohir replied. "We have also studied ancient times in which these traditions didn't exist. Elves forged their weapons when they needed them, and they were only weapons with no name, identity, owners. There was no ritual to bury them, to make them, or for porting them. This is all nonsense that teachers have created in order to gain some power to determine when things can or cannot happen. I'm sick of it; sick of waiting for someone to tell me what and when to do something."

Elladan covered his face, when in fact he wanted to cover his ears and pretend it was not his brother who was saying these heresies.

"_Elbereth_, Elrohir..." he said, breathing heavily. "Why do you always have to doubt people, even those whom you like?"

"They are the ones who doubt me," promptly responded the twin, pointing at the sword again. "Do you remember what Lord Angatal, the blacksmith, said when I asked him to teach me? _Oh, Lord El, it is a great honor, but let's await your majority for that. Then we will talk to your father about your desire to be an apprentice_," Elrohir repeated in a disdainful tone, then he clicked his tongue. "Nah, why wait all this time to do something, when I could finish what I wanted in a week?"

Elladan did not respond; he couldn't think of anything other than the undisguisable feeling that his twin's arguments were more valid than he would have wished. He lowered his head and clasped his hands in front of his face.

"Anyway, Elrohir... If they find out ..."

"They won't find out," said the brother, now raising his sword with great effort. Elladan took a step back. He could see that Elrohir couldn't wield that sword with any safety.

"It's too big..."

"Yes, it is... It is really hard work... Very difficult…" the younger brother confessed, his tone uneven with the exertion. He looked up at the sword in admiration and seriousness.

"Do you really think you can handle it?"

Elrohir twisted his lips, making a visible effort to move the weapon in small circular motions now, while trying to keep it upright.

"It didn't seem as heavy as this when I was forging it," he admitted, and Elladan stepped forward to see it better.

"It has a strange glow. How was its metal?"

"It was very easy to shape. I had to warm it up well," Said the twin, still concentrating on the small movements he made. "I thought it was just rusty iron, but no. I'm glad the sword's worst problem was just soil and nothing else. I only had some difficulty reconstituting the broken tip."

"Ah..." Elladan came closer, fascinated by the weapon's flashing brightness. "Sweet _Elbereth_. It is really beautiful."

"And resistant. After being cold again, not even a hard stone made the barest mark on it," the twin commented, diverting his eyes from the sword for a moment to see the air of admiration that was on his brother's face. Then a strange chill surged in Elrohir's stomach. It was something he could not explain. "Stand back a little, Dan," he said. "I will put it down again."

Elladan nodded, but before he could satisfy his brother's request, the weapon swung down in Elrohir's hand, as if it had suddenly become too heavy. The blade descended so precisely that even Elladan, whose defensive instincts Glorfindel always praised in training camps, was not fast enough to protect himself from the imminent danger. The sword came down, ripping Elladan's shirt. Elrohir gasped as he saw the large cut on Elladan's chest, blood already beginning to bead along its length.

Elladan still had the urge to take another step back, trying some other defense. He felt as if the weapon had a life of its own. He suddenly realized his shirt was quickly being soaked with blood. He put both hands on the wound before he fell to his knees.

"DAN!" Elrohir dropped the sword and threw himself beside his brother, already taking his tunic off to use it to try and stop the bleeding. "Do you think you can hold on? I'll get _Ada_. I'll be back quickly. "

"No!" Elladan grabbed him.

"Why not? You're bleeding. "

"It's ... It's just a small cut... I... I know what... what to do…" said the older brother among groans and grimaces of pain.

"No way." Elrohir began to rise, but was held again.

"In our room... there's bag where I keep... herbs and experiments I did with _Ada_... Bring it to me... Bring bandages too... "

"No, Dan! I'm going to get _Ada_. "

"We will be punished."

"I don't care."

"No... You do not know... You do not know the severity of... what we did... Please, Ro..."

Elrohir clenched his jaw, noting his brother's state intently. That horrible feeling was still shouting at him that it was time to stop, but he could not help fearing that what his brother had just said was only too true.

"Go quickly, Ro... Do what I'm asking you ... It'll be all right..."

Elrohir still looked at his twin, fearful, and then nodded, leaving like a tornado through the cave. If anyone would be appointed to a task which would need great speed, that someone would have to be Elrohir. He ran all the way, knowing his brother was depending on him, aware he could not return quickly enough.

Soon he was back, helping his brother with the bandages and medicines.

"It smells horrible," said the younger twin, when he finished bandaging his brother's chest wound. He'd filled it with crushed herbs and other things that he did not know about. "_Ada_ will know something is wrong as soon as he gets close to you."

Elladan bit his lips, trying to manage the pain.

"I always smell of herbs..." he said. "If he asks I'll say I was dealing with them..."

"Are you going to learn to lie now?" Elrohir provoked, just to see if he could steal a smile from his twin.

"No... It won't be a lie..." Elladan hadn't paid attention to his brother's provocative tone. He just closed his eyes briefly, concentrated in his private battle against pain. "I just hope he won't ask me the next question…"

"What question?" Elrohir asked, worried as he watched his brother's head slump to the side, coming to rest on the hard floor of the cave.

"Wh... Why…" he answered, reopening his eyes and fixing them on his brother. Elrohir offered him a worried smile, laying a supporting hand on the packed wound.

"I'm sorry, Dan. I should have listened to you," he said sadly. "What I least wanted was you being the first person I hit with a sword."

Elladan closed his eyes again. Elrohir was afraid his brother would not reopen them, until he did, trying to return the weak and forced smile Elrohir was offering him.

"I need some sleep... It is because of the medicine... I cannot stay awake... Stay with me until I wake up again, Ro... Please..."

"I won't go anywhere... I promise..." Elrohir quickly assured, supporting his brother's head in his lap and covering his eyes with one hand. He let out a worried sigh when his twin parted his lips, finally asleep, and he deeply regretted the incident he had provoked. If only there was a more comfortable place for Elladan to recover, which was not that cold floor...


	3. Hard Feather - Part 1

Thanks a lot for the reviews. Hope you like this chapter and send me some comments.

Sadie

**CHAPTER III - HARD FEATHER**

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><p><em>There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse.<em>

Lucius Annaeus Seneca

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><p>If there was something everyone knew about the Lord of Imladris' sons, it was that they were among the most committed elves. And Elladan, despite being more peaceful and averse to big challenges, was being an effective warrior now, trying to deal with his pain as any good soldier, not letting his injury be an impediment to any kind of activity.<p>

Three long days had passed, and the twins had been successful at concealing Elladan's wound from everyone in the Last Homely House. Elrohir had hidden the weapon until they decided what to do with it, and had spent the days looking after his brother, sometimes helping him to change the bandages, sometimes inventing excuses to free him of any obligations, which might accidentally lead to the discovery of what they were trying to hide.

Nobody was really surprised with that. In fact, everybody thought that Elrohir's overprotective attitude these past few days was just a reflection of his usual character. Elrohir was always a possessive elf, especially concerning his older twin.

Elladan seemed to be fine, but one thing was stealing the younger twin's sleep.

"It isn't closed yet, Dan," he said, noting the red stains which appeared on his brother's bandages. They were sitting in the back garden. Elladan leaned against an oak, very pale. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"Yes... Tonight I'll have to make up an excuse not to dine with everyone_..._" The twin's tone was weak as he closed his eyes. "_Ada_ was directing _that_ look at me yesterday... I thought he wouldn't be at the table as he wasn't in previous nights. He and _Daerada_ have been talking so much in the office... "

"Yes_..._ I'd noticed he was looking at you. Thankfully he hasn't asked you anything..."

"Yes_..._"

"Do you want to go to our room?"

Elladan closed his eyes again, letting the air escape slowly through his lips.

"I want it to stop hurting..." he said almost to himself, but then realized his indiscretion and reopened his eyes, regretful. Elrohir watched him with an undisguised air of concern and remorse.

"Let me talk to _Ada_..." he pleaded for the umpteenth time.

"No... You've promised..."

"Your wound should be better by now, Dan... You said it would take two days to close up. Now four days have passed and it's still bleeding," he said, putting his hand on his twin's warm forehead. "You look feverish..."

"Maybe there's some inflammation... I have to change the doses of the leaves and use a little more of that orange powder... the one that tastes so bad..." Elladan said as if talking to himself.

Elrohir offered a sad smile. Only in this moment did he regret never having learned to appreciate those lessons his brother seemed to enjoy more than anything else in the world. He looked at the wound again, trying to ignore once more that insistent voice that was screaming inside his head.

Elladan noticed his brother's uneasiness and tried to disguise the discomfort he was feeling, letting the traces of pain fade from his face, and camouflaging them better than anyone else could. "It'll be alright, Ro. I just need more time to find the right herb dosage... I think I know what to do now..."

Elrohir sighed, nodding, but then, when he put his hand on the bandage again, Elladan's low moan contradicted the reassuring words he had just said. That agonizing sound made Elrohir realize that there were many risks in this new venture, risks that might be too serious to take.

"I'm going to get some more bandages, all right?"

Elladan took a minute to respond, as he was focused on dealing with an enemy that seemed increasingly powerful. Elrohir touched one of Elladan's hands, concerned, and then the twin refocused his eyes, finally looking back to his younger brother.

"All right_..._" he managed to say, closing his eyes again after doing that. "Bring the bag to me, _toron__..._ I do not think anyone is going to come here... It's almost evening... "

Elrohir nodded in silence, getting up and preparing himself for what he was going to do next. He knew he had committed a grave error, perhaps the most serious one of his entire existence. He could not continue to drag his brother along this path with him. He had to do something, and he knew exactly what it was.

& & &  
>It was the end of a warm spring evening when the library door quietly opened and the younger twin's face appeared in the gap. Elrond turned in his chair to see his son, surprised that Elrohir had disregarded the warning that his father was in a very important meeting and couldn't be interrupted.<p>

"_Ion-nin_," he said immediately. "Did the Sentinel advise you not to come in?"

The young elf did not answer, his darkened eyes just passed quickly over those present: His grandfather and his mentors, Glorfindel and Erestor. They were all familiar elves, but the twin looked at them as if they were complete strangers.

"I need to talk to you, _Ada_," he finally said, bravely facing his father's unsatisfied look.

"Must I inform you that we are in an important meeting, Elrohir?" Elrond changed his tone to a more severe one, then. He had problems with his youngest son. Day-to-day, Elrohir seemed to learn less about how to curb his impatience. "Just because you know these who are in attendance here, gives you no right to treat what we are doing as an irrelevant thing that can wait."

Elrohir tightened his jaw and continued to stand right where he was, but the serious look on his face disturbed his father even more. Although he was always short-tempered, the younger twin spent most of his time indulging in laughing and joking, so this austere manner was not like him at all.

"I need to talk to you, _Ada,_" he repeated. "Now..."

Elrond exhaled audibly and his eyes quickly searched the others present in the room, trying to feel how the child's attitude was being received by them. In moments like this, in which he knew that a reprimand would be called for; Elrond had good friendly allies, who always kept a wise silence, even when their desire to express themselves seemed to be almost uncontrollable.

"Come on then," the healer reluctantly agreed, waving a hand to permit the boy's approach. "Be brief, child, because our discussion is of the utmost importance."

Elrohir did not move, but Elrond noticed his son's deep sigh. Elrohir's eyes quickly sought the only open window, as if something which was happening out there was worrying him. Finally, his gaze returned momentarily to Elrond's, but then his eyes shifted toward the hallway and back, in a silent plea to his father.

"I need you to come with me, _Ada_."

The next breath of disapproval from his father was less subtle than the previous one. Elrond shook his head.

"Elrohir..." he began his rebuke, but was promptly interrupted.

"I need you to come with me _now_, _Ada_."

Elrond frowned again. Only then he observed his youngest son's extreme paleness, although it was disguised, as always, in his proud features and upturned chin.

"What happened that cannot wait, child?"

Elrohir took another deep breath, but didn't say a word. He knew his silence was not helping his father's frustration. Moreover, the fact that the young elf had already moved toward the door and was there waiting made it seem as if he expected Elrond to respond no matter how important his father's meeting was. Elrohir knew his father'sindignation was only increasing.

Elrond sighed, louder this time, throwing the young elf a look which translated a warning his son had known since childhood, but rarely saw these days. It said that his attitudes were not satisfactory and should be changed immediately. These thoughts were easy for Elrohir to read in his father's gaze.

However, this time not even the elf lord's characteristic threat had the expected effect on his youngest son. Elrohir was still waiting for him, bravely ignoring all evidence that his attitude was being considered at the very least inappropriate.

It was only then that Elrond did what few parents do: he swallowed his pride and started trying to understand what other interpretation he could find for this strange insistence of his son. He watched the lines of the child's face carefully, trying to read the small tremors, which he had not noticed before.

Something had really happened; he could only try to discover the seriousness of it.

Elrond then turned toward his friends. Celeborn only offered him a small nod of agreement for his implicit request. So did Erestor. Glorfindel, however, had the same troubled expression as his healer friend, seeming to share the same doubts and concerns as Elrond.

"I apologize," said the elf lord finally, defeated, rising and departing toward the door.

Elrohir had already escaped from it and was awaiting his father in the hallway. Elrond gave him a quick look.

"Child, I must warn you that if I conclude someone else could have solved your problem, or that it is not as urgent as you want to make me believe, I'll give you a punishment for this interruption," he threatened. But all the younger elf did was continuing along the path he had started on, moving a few steps ahead of his father as if he was not really listening at all.

They passed through the main room and when they reached the stairs leaving the big house, Elrond's patience faded and he quickened his pace in order to grasp Elrohir by the arm.

"Where do you wish to go, Elrohir?" he asked with seriousness, which only made the young elf get paler, but the twin took another deep breath of courage, pulling his arm until he was free and continuing his downstairs journey.

Elrond had no choice but to accompany him.

Then they crossed the side garden, went through some small bushes until Elrond could deduce where Elrohir was taking him and why. Partially hidden in one corner of the garden, sitting under an old oak tree, was his older son.

At first Elrond felt a shade of indignation invade his heart, thinking that the twins had quarreled, as often happened, and, which was frequent as well, they were just looking for their father to help them in an amicable reconciliation. However, when he saw Elladan's expression, as he raised his head at their approach, Elrond realized something was wrong. The elder twin got up immediately, but didn't step away, as if walking might somehow be too difficult.

"I cannot believe you, Elrohir!" he said, lowering his head and trying to edge away. "Why have you brought him here? Have you told him?"

Elrond frowned, wondering why his firstborn was averting his eyes and trying to avoid him. Elladan had his back to him as if hiding something very important.

"What happened, boys?" he asked, confused, and totally displeased with the strange sensations this whole incident was causing him. "Come here, Elladan."

Elladan did not respond, did not even move. He just supported himself against the old oak, with his back to his father. Elrond stopped for a moment, examining his son carefully. Finally something caught his attention. The young elf held one arm guarding his body, over the abdominal region. That made Elrond immediately forget his doubts and move quickly in Elladan's direction.

"What are you feeling, _ion-nín_?" he asked, holding one of the boy's arms. Elladan tried to move away again, but Elrond did not ignore his instincts as a healer, and would not relinquish his grip. He knelt down then, trying to look at the child and forcing him to discard his defensive position. Soon the great red spot, hidden on the boy's dark shirt, was revealed to the astonished eyes of his father. "_Sweet Elbereth_... What is that, my child? What happened?"

Elladan shook his head emphatically, and even as his body trembled, he still tried to free himself from his father's attention.

"No... It's nothing_..._ It was nothing_..."_ he said, still reluctant to let anyone help him. His eyes, however, were filled with tears, and Elrond could tell it was not only pain that caused them.

"What do you mean, child?" Elrond asked incredulously, now holding his son's arms so that he would not hide the injury again. "Will you tell me what happened, Elladan?" he asked insistently, but his decisive tone made the request sound more like an order or something worse. Elladan closed his eyes, finally feeling that he was at a dead end. He could not deny what he felt, nor stop the pain's progress. He then squeezed his eyelids shut, fearing all that was going to happen.

"Sorry_..._ I'm sorry, _Ada..._ Please_..._ Do not be angry..." he begged in a tone of pure agony. Tears of pain and anguish began to flow down his pale face as his body seemed to burn with a fever that was growing noticeably.

Elrond trembled, right along with his child, who still held his body completely rigid, as if he feared being helped.

"It's all right... Do not cry, _ion-nin_. I'm not angry... Let me help you, my child..." he assured, and only then his firstborn let his body fall into his father's arms as if his legs could not keep him up anymore. A groan of pain was his only reply, before closing his eyes and grabbing the healer's robe, as if afraid that his father would leave him.

Elrond felt like a part of his heart was being flogged mercilessly. He embraced the child with care and took him into his arms. "Everything will be alright, trust me," he assured in the boy's ear. He stood up, and began walking quickly down the same path he'd come along before, not saying another word.


	4. Hard Feather - Part 2

Hi. Here is another chapter. Hope you like it.

Thanks a lot for the ones who are reading. Please, leave a comment if you like the story. It will mean a lot to me.

Thanks again.

Sadie

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><p><strong>CHAPTER IV - HARD FEATHER – PART II<strong>

_If I am guilty, I will pay._

Bob Marley

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><p>Three long days had passed until Elladan was out of danger. During that hard time there were no questions about what had happened. Family and friends had stood beside the eldest twin, doing their best to make him feel better, to make him feel safe. It was only after Elrond had reluctantly assured everyone that there was no longer any risk to Elladan, that Elrohir was finally called to a particular talk that he had been both fearing and waiting for.<p>

The twin unwillingly left his room. He had not abandoned Elladan's bedside since his brother was laid there, and now, even leaving his twin to Lady Idhrenniel's care, he felt uneasy about doing it.

His Mother took him to the room where the meeting was to be held. He was surprised to see that not only his father was there, but also his grandfather, Erestor and Glorfindel. He did not look at anyone; he merely stood in silence while Celebrian shut the door. Then the elf lady took her son by the hand and led him to one of the chairs.

Elrohir looked around for a split second, before lowering his eyes as he sat down. He knew where he was: the Meeting Room; a location where his father usually held discussions about subjects that were extremely serious. Elrohir had not been here for a long time, nor been seated in one of these chairs. He cringed inside as he thought about the reason they were all gathered here now.

The twin sighed, remaining silent—he'd not uttered a word since the day he was forced to tell his father the entire story; since he had told him about his transgression; since he had faced Elrond's dazed expression.

_Ilúvatar, _he would remember that moment forever, that's for sure. He had never seen his father as disappointed as he was that day. Elrond was rendered so speechless that he could only raise his hand briefly, pointing the way out of the room to his son. He didn't even look at him or say anything about what he had just heard. Since then the healer had spent every moment next to Elladan, but hadn't addressed his younger son at all, not even when it was only the two of them in the room.

A few moments later, a period that seemed to last an eternity to Elrohir, one of those present spoke; but, to the young elf's disappointment, it was not the voice he hoped to hear.

"_Astalder_, do you know why you are here?" asked his grandfather.

The twin couldn't help trembling at the question. _Astalder, _it was what his grandfather had called him since he was a baby. _Astalder: _the valiant one. He didn't feel like that. Elrohir just nodded as an answer; his eyes were fixed on his own hands, his fingers strongly interlaced.

"I want to hear your voice, my warrior," the Elf Lord insisted then. However, all his grandfather's tone accomplished was making the twin press his hands a little tighter together on his lap. Celeborn waited for a moment, while the other elves in the room were visibly trying to disguise their worried glances. Only Elrond had not shown any reaction. He was sitting in an armchair near the window; his sad eyes were lost in whatever dark image he saw outside.

"You have to answer your _Daerada_, _ion-nín_," Celebrian warned in her motherly manner, concerned with the child's refusal to speak. Both Elladan and Elrohir were keeping an almost absolute silence since Elladan's wound was discovered, and neither of the boys seemed willing to break their cold and distressing reserve.

Celeborn sighed deeply, his serene gaze still on his grandson's figure.

"During this meeting we have to discuss your infractions and punishments, if they will be necessary, my warrior," he said then. "It is your right to not defend yourself if that is what you wish to, but I want you to be brave enough to look at us as we follow the protocol. Do you understand me?"

Elrohir did not answer, but obeyed his grandfather, raising his eyes, which were bright with tears, but dark with remorse.

"Very well, so…" Celeborn said. "_Astalder_, we are all here to analyze how much of what happened is the result of your lack of knowledge about important issues, and how much is, in fact, the fruit of your own irresponsibility and your inability to understand the consequences of your actions." He waited a few moments to see his grandson's reaction.

Elrohir continued looking at Celeborn with admirable courage, seeming willing to listen to whatever warnings or reprimands any of them might want to express.

Celeborn slowly exhaled, and then he moved his eyes toward Glorfindel, nodding slightly, which indicated to him it was his time to speak.

The ancient warrior, however, seemed uneasy. He tightened his jaw, looking as if he might explode, but since everyone's attention was focused on him, he thought better of it. He then looked at the young child he'd known since he took his first steps, and his anger eased the smallest of measures.

"We are in a very serious situation, Elrohir..." he began, speaking in a low tone. "Do you have any idea of what you did, elfling? Do you?" He paused momentarily, not really waiting for Elrohir's answer; it was more as if he was trying to control his own emotions. "You misappropriated another soldier's weapon, altered it from its original form, and used it without being granted permission to do so."

Elrohir returned his master's gaze, nodding his head as he had done previously. But his heart ached to see the reaction in his mentor's eyes. There was disappointment in Glorfindel's face that seemed even worse than what he had seen in his father's. Somehow, his blond mentor seemed to feel guilty, and Elrohir, in his childish innocence, couldn't understand why.

"Are you indeed aware of it, boy?" the Elf Lord managed to ask. "Are you sure, child? Didn't you have any doubt? Didn't you feel any hesitation when you decided to do what you did?"

Elrohir frowned at the emphatic sound of the mentor's questions.

"Tell me, elfling… Did you, at any time, remember anything I told you about weapons and their owners?"

The younger twin had another moment of hesitation. But he felt his jaw fall open slowly, comprehending at last, the blond elf's emotion. He parted his lips in surprise. Could Glorfindel, as his mentor, feel as if he hadn't done his role properly? As if he hadn't taught him well? Could he feel… guilty about what had happened?

Elrohir stopped breathing, then felt his chin tremble as he bit the corner of his mouth to contain it. He had to do something; he had to say something, but what? What would he say? He opened his mouth, feeling the urge to at least tell his master that the fault was only his and nobody else's, and that he was a stupid pupil with whom no one should have ever wasted his time. Elrohir had known what he was doing when he did it, he just hadn't cared. And because of that, now he could not bring himself to speak. He wouldn't be able to stand to hear his own voice.

_Ilúvatar, _he didn't want to hear his voice anymore! He just shook his head again and a tear escaped one of his eyes before he lowered his gaze one more time.

Glorfindel also lowered his own, without anything else to say, and another long hard period of silence followed, until Celeborn spoke again.

"We have to hear from another mentor of yours, Elrohir," he said, breaking the quiet that had enveloped them all. He then looked at Erestor without waiting for any answer from his grandson.

This time Elrohir couldn't find his courage as easily as he has done before. He wiped his tears away before doing what he knew was expected of him, slowly raising his gaze to that of Erestor's. However, enduring the stare of Imladris' book master, and his father's counselor, was not any easier to bear than Glorfindel's disappointment had been.

Erestor didn't seem any happier than Glorfindel was. The dark haired lord took a deep breath, but his eyes wandered through all the stacks of books of various colors and subjects, knowing that there was nothing written there which could help him with this very difficult issue.

"Elrohir..." he said, and the young elf's eyes turned toward Erestor. Elrohir was trying to do what his grandfather had told him to do, but it was very difficult to face them all. "Do you remember what I told you about the fate of a sword after its owner's disappearance?" he directly questioned, with worried eyes. "Do you remember that a sword has a sacred role for many people, and that it should be left at rest, if not claimed by its owner or an heir?"

Elrohir nodded, moving his eyes to stare at his hands again.

Unfortunately that was not the only question Erestor would be obligated to ask that night, so the counselor cleared his throat so his pupil's attention was on him again.

"Elrohir..." the mentor said once more, and the young elf wished he had any other name than that. "Do you remember what the scriptures say about attempting on the life of someone of the same blood?" he cautiously asked, and the young elf's eyebrows curved downward again, before his face turned whiter shades of pale. He felt as if he had been punched.

"We know you did not intend to do it." Erestor raised his right hand in a gesture of peace. "But your silence after the accident, even though you searched for help later, aggravated your fault very much, boy."

The twin felt his body freeze, suddenly plagued by the sense of danger that had been haunting him, and it was amplified this time. He looked at his mother then, and was shocked to see tears falling slowly down her very pale face. She tore her gaze away from him, and then Elrohir noticed that none of the others were looking at him either, except his grandfather, whose grim expression had worsened tremendously.

"The punishment for any elf for offenses such as these is to be exiled, young one," Celeborn said, very seriously. "This is an irrevocable law."

It took Elrohir a few seconds to understand the meaning of those words, but then he paled even more. His darkened eyes searched, unseeing, as he envisioned the future being described to him.

What was his grandfather saying? Would he be exiled? Exiled? Couldn't he live in any elven kingdom? Is this what he was saying? Would he be…alone? Would he lose his family? Could it be possible?

No… It wouldn't happen… He was just a child… wasn't he?

Celeborn felt heartsick, reading those feelings of despair that slowly invaded his grandson's face. _Elbereth, _he knew he was doing the right thing. Elrohir was a child without any limits, and a child who had gone too far for his own good. But he was also very young to be expected to fully understand important things; too young to know that, for love, sometimes, people have to do things they don't want to; for love, people have to be cold, people have to punish their own children.

Elrohir suddenly realized that he was no longer looking at his grandfather's face. He detested the fact that his _Daerada_ would easily read the despair that he couldn't hide anymore. He had no choice but to obey, so his eyes slowly rose to meet those of his grandfather again.

Celeborn sighed heavily, taking another deep breath before continuing.

"Unfortunately, all that has been said and seen today certifies your guilt, _Astalder_," he said. "Do you understand that?" Celeborn received a hesitant nod of confirmation as answer. "Your case is beyond us. Your case should be judged by the local Council."

This time Elrohir continued looking at his grandfather, as if he hadn't comprehended the meaning of what he was saying. Judged? Judged by the Council? He looked at the other members of the meeting then, but nobody seemed willing to return his gaze. Elrond was still looking through that same dark window; Erestor had his eyes focused nowhere; Glorfindel had his covered by one of his hands. He had his mother's attention now, but her eyes were so sad that he wished she were not looking at him at all.

There was no doubt anymore for the young Elrohir. He was in trouble and not in a simple way. The enormity of his transgression threatened to overwhelm him. He should have paid attention to his brother's advice. He should have listened to Elladan. Elladan was always the wiser one. He seemed to feel the danger; he seemed to know everything.

That's why Elrohir couldn't help wincing when his grandfather's gaze quickly scanned the other occupants of the room before returning to bore into him. He was filled with a terrifying sensation he couldn't describe, and that sensation was only aggravated more by Celeborn's stare.

_Ilúvatar, _was he really going to be judged by the Council? Was he really to be exiled? This could not be happening… It was not possible…

"However, there is an important detail," Celeborn finally added, and Elrohir's eyebrows rose slightly with his grandfather's unexpected statement, and a small bright ray of hope shone in Elrohir's eyes. "Because you're a few years from full majority yet, the local Council accepted that the responsibility be transferred to someone else."

At first the younger twin didn't understand what those words meant, and his face was a perfect picture of that doubt. Then, that uncomfortable sensation of danger returned again, waking a clear feeling inside him, a feeling that made his heart freeze; something was telling him that, although he could not fully understand his grandfather's words, they were not as positive as he'd first thought. When Celeborn turned to look at the person in the room who would speak next, Elrohir felt a chill run down his spine…

Elrond raised his eyes at last, looking at his son with his always patient stare, although, there was some sadness there the twin could not name. When the healer rose, releasing a sigh of weariness, an even more painful silence filled the air around them.

Elrond stepped closer to the window he had been staring through since the beginning of the meeting. Elrohir followed his father with his eyes, desperately trying to understand what was happening. All he could see was the image of Elrond's face, reflected now in the glass in front of the Elf Lord. His father seemed lost in his thoughts; thoughts which were an overwhelming and painful mystery to Elrohir.

It took a few moments until Elrond turned again and looked at his son. Only then the Lord of Imladris' voice finally was heard.

"Elrohir is my son," he said. His breathing quickened, but keeping a serene face, his eyes never left those of the young elf. "He was born and raised on my guard and for him my heart feels extreme affection… I'm sure that this serious act he's committed is only the result of his own immaturity, and not of any dark shadow that could be in his heart."

He paused, and his eyes abandoned his son's for a moment, looking for someone else in the room. Elrohir followed them and found his mother's image. The Lady Elf's eyes were still so sad that he almost couldn't look at them. Celebrian wasn't looking at her son now; she was returning her husband's attention; her lips were tight and her face very pale.

"Therefore…" Elrond continued then, looking fearlessly at all the members of the meeting before focusing his eyes on his son again, "by knowing that I should have foreseen the outcome of his immaturity, which might have caused such lapses in his judgment, I assume responsibility, in front of my family and friends, and admit that I have failed." He then diverted his eyes from his son's gaze, but not before he saw the shock his statement had revealed on Elrohir's face. He took a deep breath and completed what he had to say in a strong and decisive tone, which made the boy shudder: "I have failed, and for having full consciousness of that, I take the blame of my son's act as mine."

Elrohir's eyes widened, astonished, and he stood up immediately. But all Elrond did was lift a palm in a gesture that the twin was unable to ignore. A multitude of desires and impulses longed to move his body, to compel him to do something, even with that palm still up.

But he had already been stubborn enough; he had already disobeyed enough, he had already been too immature…

So he sat down again, slowly and painfully. He was panting now; his heart was beating so fast that his chest ached. He looked at his grandfather then, with the eyes of a person who desperately needs assistance. In his heart the young child still fed the vain hope of awakening from a terrible nightmare.

Celeborn stared at him compassionately, feeling the pain and conflict in his grandson's chest.

"_Daerada_..." the twin's voice was heard for the first time, awakened by the dire circumstances, breaking the silence that insisted on freezing the place like a sad picture. That sound, however, moved his grandfather, who inhaled deeply, as if seeking to create a little more room inside himself for all that had now accumulated there. The tears flowed from Elrohir's eyes, leaving his words with an overwhelming taste of salt. "_Daerada_... He cannot take my fault..."

"He is your father, _pen-neth_."

"But ..." Elrohir looked back to Elrond, whose gaze was now lost again in the dark landscape of the window. It was evident that his father was avoiding looking at him now. "What is going to happen?"

Celeborn pressed his lips together. He'd known this was going to be hard to do, but he had not realized how hard it would be until this very moment. He wouldn't help his grandson if he gave in now, but he would never get used to the pain of someone so young.

"Attesting the fault he has committed, _Astalder,_" he tried to explain, "he releases you from any guilt."

The twin shook his head, still looking at his father. The healer's hands were tightly clasped behind his back, his stance still proud, his very pale face even now turned away from Elrohir. The young elf felt his body tremble, and the voice inside his head had never screamed so loudly.

Oh, my… This cannot be… What is going to happen to his father now? What is going to happen to him? What horrible discovery is still waiting to fall upon him in the next seconds? Could it be this bad? Could it be even worse?

It could, he knew. There was still something more… He could feel it… That damned sensation wasn't gone yet...

He looked at his grandfather again, trying to find what seemed to be missing in this painful situation. In his _Daerada's_ face there was still something left unsaid, something ominous he had not yet revealed.

Elrohir found himself both longing for and fearing that final information, desperately trying to imagine something that could get him out of this horrible situation.

"What ... What is going to happen now, _Daerada?_" he dared to ask anyway, realizing there was no escaping from this pain. He felt he had to face it before he went mad from conjecturing about it. Only then a horrible idea stole his breath and caused icy fingers to chill his skin. "They won't exile him, will they?"

Celeborn sighed deeply and slowly, and his eyes journeyed again through the members of the meeting, before landing patiently on his son-in-law.

"No, _Astalder_," he replied, but his tone was not enough to convince his grandson that this was good news, so Elrohir remained rigid, waiting for what he knew would be added to that answer. "However, taking the blame for this misfortune, his name has been stained in the history books. He is qualified as an untrustworthy person."

"He's disgraced ... because of me..." concluded the young elf, fading further. And the traces of his face changed completely; it was as if the light had been stolen from him. He looked once again to his father, and then realized why Elrond did not look at him.

_Ilúvatar__, _he didn't even want to look at himself anymore...

"It is a fact," Celeborn agreed and paused, making Elrohir seek the older elf's eyes again. The boy knew that there was still something to be said, and it would not be any better than anything he had already heard.

Elrohir stood up slowly, his eyes yet fixed on his grandfather's.

"Please, _Daerada…" _he pleaded in a trembling voice. "Tell me what I can do to remedy everything I have done. I will do whatever you tell me to."

Celeborn shook his head and sighed.

"You are a child, _Astalder_… There is nothing you can do. This is an adult issue."

"I am not a child, _Daerada. _There must be something…"

"You are a child, _Astalder." _Celeborn's voice rose a bit. "You didn't want to believe that, but you are still a child; a child who made a serious mistake. And your father has admitted failing instructing you satisfactorily. As your grandfather, it's my duty to claim your tutelage."

This time the young elf's chin dropped, and Elrohir felt that he would fall if he did not seek some kind of support.

"What... What do you… What do you mean, _Daerada_?" he stammered, holding himself upright with a trembling hand on the chair he'd risen from.

Celeborn saw his discomfort, so he stood up, stepping closer and putting a hand on one of the child's shoulders.

"Tomorrow my group is going to go back to our small shelter on the shores of _Belfalas_ Bay, where your grandmother is waiting for us near the elvish haven of _Edhellond_. You are coming with us as my pupil, _Astalder_."

"How... How long?"

Celeborn did not answer; he just pressed his lips together and let out a weary sigh. Whatever the answer was, nobody seemed to have strength enough to give it.

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><p>"Why cannot I go as well, <em>Daerada<em>?" Elladan asked again, standing near his grandfather's horse. His father's hand was planted heavily on his shoulder.

Celeborn approached once more, lifting his grandson's chin so he could see the child's sad face. He looked at the boy with affection, and then carefully observed the bandages that still covered the eldest twin's wound.

"On another trip, all right, Elladan?"

The young elf sealed his lips, turning his bright eyes to his twin, who already was on one of the horses of his grandfather's group. Elrohir did not look at anyone, but his hands, grasped tightly in the mane of the animal, attested his state of mind.

"We will never do it again, _Daerada_," Elladan insisted in an anguished tone. "We should not have done what we did with the sword."

"Only your brother touched the weapon, _tithen-pen_. And he handled it without care, so you were injured."

"It was an accident, _Daerada_. He has apologized. He is sorry..."

"In this case your brother's apology is not enough, Elladan. Your father has already explained that to you... "

"So let me go, too. I want to go with Elrohir. I also did what I should not. I also deserve punishment."

Celeborn gave a small smile, stroking his grandson's dark hair.

"We are not punishing either of you, Elladan," he said in a loving tone, then he put his palm on the boy's hurt chest. "Although you have made a big mistake hiding from your father that you were wounded. You should think on that while you recover."

Elladan pressed his lips together and from his eyes tears started to fall. He did not want to cry in front of his grandfather, but he couldn't control himself anymore.

"You will not bring him back, will you, _Daerada_? Just because he has hurt me accidently ... Please, do not take him… He will not do it again... Please, _Daerada… _He will not... It was an accident... He had not intended…"

Elrohir looked down and shut his eyes hearing the pleading tone of his twin. His fingers entwined even stronger in the white mane of his horse, while a few tears also streamed down his face, unable as he was to contain them.

Celeborn sighed and flicked his gaze to the couple who was behind the elder twin. Elrond looked down, merely squeezing his child's shoulder, but Celebrian returned the look with a quite different one. It was evident that the blond lady did not support her father's attitude.


	5. Subtle differences

Hi, again!

Thank you so much for those ones who are reading. Please leave me a comment if you like the story, just a word, a phrase. It will mean a lot to me.

Love,

Sadie

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><p><strong>CHAPTER V - SUBTLE DIFFERENCES<strong>

_The good life is one inspired by love and guided by knowledge._

**Bertrand Russell**

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><p>Brushstrokes of a dark blue merged with the reddish hue just above the horizon, as if the nightfall fought with the waning day in a strange duel of colors. Galadriel emerged from behind a column of the port access, coming to a place in which her husband occasionally liked to sit, seeing and hearing the waves as they swelled and then diminished upon the shore, even when the absence of light practically stole the meaning of everything around.<p>

For her there was no delight in the sound of the crashing waves at twilight hours, the time of day in which life already seemed rather confused. She preferred to hear them at dawn, as the sun rose, the predecessor of a new day, to feel all hope that the image itself would infer.

"You have that expression on your face again," Celeborn said, as his wife sat beside him.

"What expression?"

"The one which reminds me of our daughter and also makes me believe that you were with _Astalder,_" he revealed, holding his wife's hand.

The expression on the beautiful elf's face faded, and a sweet sigh escaped her lips.

"He has been training since before dawn," she said. "He's so determined."

"Yes. Determination and a lack of wisdom; which is exactly how youth could be described," the silver-haired lord said. "With both you learn much, but one remains and the other fades. Sooner or later."

Galadriel casually intertwined one of her golden locks between her fingers, while her gaze turned inward; in her mind she saw a young elf training with his wooden sword for hours, listening to the occasional provocation from the other elves, most of them older than him.

"He has always been among friends. He must learn to face what is unknown. Do not worry," her husband read her thoughts. "They have been provoking him because I asked them to do so. Here he cannot be the host's son or a relative of any important person. He must learn to have his own space and earn the respect of the others himself."

"He hasn't spoken a word since he arrived," she reminded him.

"I know."

"Celebrian wrote us, saying that Elladan has taken the same vow of silence."

Celeborn smiled serenely.

"Let them do so. They are not doing it as an aggression or in defiance to any of us."

"So then for what reason would they do it, _hervenn-nin_?"

The lord elf looked up to the sky, its brightness decreased in different shades of the twilight pink, while some parts of it were almost completely taken by the darkness that would invite the stars. Another smile graced Celeborn's peaceful face.

"They want to be together, _melethril-nin_... That's why they are doing it ... so they do not feel so far apart."

Behind the stone port, far from the main access, there was a small clearing where the ground was almost covered with leaves at any time of year. The warriors and students used it as a training field for more reasons than only the geographic ones. The fact that the coastal wind covered the place with leaves, even when it was not fall, was most appreciated, because the young elves, who wanted to find a calm place to train or just play with their swords, could always hear if there was someone there or if the field was vacant.

However, in the last seasons, the camp had never been empty.

It was already quite late when Galadriel found her grandson still arduously training. Everyone had gone and the boy continued, alone now, repeating the same ballet he had been practicing all day, moving the air with his wooden sword. The elf-lady watched him for a while, feeling sad that he did not realize how late it was, even as tired as he seemed. She moved gracefully, passing behind some nearby trees, approaching him without being seen.

When the twin turned, bringing the heavy weapon hissing through the air in a transversal line, it found a similar one in its path.

Elrohir's eyes widened, recognizing his grandmother's figure, holding a wooden sword equal to his.

"On guard, soldier!" she said in a serious tone, which denied any expectation the twin might have that the beautiful elf may be jesting.

Her weapon spun so, and the twin had to reposition himself to avoid being struck. There was no extreme gravity in fights with wooden swords, but several bruises the next day were not appreciated when you had to continue training with an aching body.

She continued moving forward, step by step. Her clear eyes were focused on every movement with a determination that could rob the breath of one who watched.

Elrohir also felt a lack of air, but for a completely different reason.

_Elbereth_, where did all those movements come from? Some of them he had never seen before...

"Do you know your ancestors' story, _Astalder_?" asked the blonde lady. Her lips were raised in a mischievous smile, while she danced with the lightness of a heron taking flight. Her smile widened when her grandchild moved his head in a positive answer. "What do you know about mine?" she questioned, after turning her sword twice and successfully deflecting her grandson's, jarring it from his grasp.

Elrohir dropped his shoulders, unsatisfied. He moved quietly and grabbed the weapon from the ground. When he returned, his grandmother still had her weapon raised. That was a clear indication that she did not consider the duel ended.

"What do you know about my story, _Astalder_?" she asked again, and Elrohir looked down, slightly lifting his shoulders to indicate that he did not know if he knew enough. Then he positioned himself in front of the Elf Lady once more, widening his stance and lifting his sword.

Galadriel smiled.

"My father was Finarfin, and my mother was Earwen," she said, coming back to hit her weapon against her grandson's, surprised that he was much more aware of the conflict this time. "In the Great Journey to the Undying Lands, my father's father, Finwë, led the Elves known as the Noldor, and my mother's father, Olwe, became the leader of the Teleri," she explained, knowing by her grandson's eyes he was not unaware of that information. "I was born in the Undying Lands in the Years of the Trees, before the First Age," she completed. She watched as Elrohir took a deep breath and raised his eyebrows with that statement. He knew very well how old his grandmother was, but hearing her say it surprised him.

And she stole his sword once more...

Elrohir dropped his shoulders again, with a sharp snort of discontent this time. Losing a conflict with wooden swords was humiliating; losing it to an Elf Lady was even worse. But worst of all was the fact that this elf was his grandmother.

He took up the weapon again, analyzing the material to see if it had been damaged in the fall. It was the heaviest of all the wooden swords; he didn't want to lose it and have to continue training the next day with one of the lighter ones he used when he arrived.

"My parents gave me four older brothers," he heard she said, and Elrohir mentally recited the names he had already repeated in Erestor's classes many times: Finrod, Orodreth, Angrod and Aegnor. As he returned to his defensive position in front of his grandmother, he thought about the lesson he'd learned years ago. Yes, he knew that story very well. He wondered why his grandmother decided to tell him things now that he could read in any book.

"There was a custom among the Elves of the Undying Lands," Galadriel said, holding the sword steady when she saw that her grandson was again in position. "To each child was given two names; one name from their father and another from their mother. But today I do not use any of them."

Elrohir nodded quickly. He also knew that. The name his grandmother had received from her father was Artanis, which means "noblewoman," and to her mother she was Nerwen, which meant "hence manly maiden", a meaning which was rather strange for an elf with the extreme beauty of his grandmother.

"The mother-name was usually chosen due to a future vision that only blessed the mother," Galadriel said, and Elrohir began to suspect that his grandmother was reading his thoughts. "Which makes me believe that my mother foresaw I would become an elf taller and stronger than the others," she said, as she knocked her grandson's sword away again.

Elrohir loosened his arms, angry now. By the Valar, not even Glorfindel stole his weapon so quickly. What was he doing wrong? His grandmother's laughter only made him feel worse. He positioned himself again in front of his opponent. He couldn't stop looking at her now as any other enemy. That seemed to please the elf-lady.

"Do you know from whom you inherited this look?" she smiled then, a smile that seemed somehow driven, as if her thoughts were compelling her now. "It is mine and you did not receive it from any other of your ancestors. One who has wisdom enough can read this expression and what lies behind it."

Elrohir lowered his sword for a moment, frowning, as one who tries to translate a very difficult message. The Elf Lady raised her weapon and she advanced on him without any warning.

"I know what is said about me in books: Galadriel became one of the most important of the Noldor, except perhaps for her Uncle Fëanor, who created the three gems, the Silmarils. Galadriel was very wise. While living in the Undying Lands, she learned much from Yavanna, the Valar of the growing things, and Aulë, the great smith who idealized the dwarf people. Galadriel knew much about what was inside people's minds, and she was very understanding and compassionate." She recited one by one all the words that were in the books Erestor had asked Elrohir to read. "But of all these descriptions, what comes after the next 'but' is a very important detail: _but_ she was also proud and determined."

As Galadriel spoke, her fighting intensified, until she again knocked her grandson's sword away, even more distant now. Elrohir grabbed his wrist with a grimace of pain. This time she approached, her sword at her side, taking his hand in hers and stroking it gently. Soon the discomfort eased, as if it had never been there, and Elrohir's eyes were again tied to his grandmother's.

Yes, she was everything those books said, the young elf thought, but he would never associate the figure of his glamorous grandmother with anything negative like he knew some people did. She was pure brilliance and energy, and just by looking at her the rest of the world seemed pointless.

The beautiful Elf Lady put her hand on his face now, her fingers running along the dark smudges, which fatigue and other pains revealed beneath her grandson's eyes.

"Some things that your grandfather calls lack of wisdom I constantly call determination, _Astalder_," she said, taking her grandson's hand and bringing him to sit with her on the trunk of a fallen tree. "I took good years to understand the subtle difference between these two terms, but I think that, even today, I still find myself questioning the boundaries between these classifications."

As they sat there, the beautiful elf's eyes wandered the countryside, now lit only by the local lanterns. She seemed to view another scene, though, at a much more distant time.

"When Morgoth killed my grandfather and stole the Silmarils, Fëanor made an oath to retrieve them whatever he should do," she continued, and Elrohir noticed that her eyes darkened slowly. "He chased Morgoth to Middle-earth, contrary to what the Valar had advised, and many of the Noldor followed him. I did not make the same oath that Fëanor had, nor did I share the same outrage... I thought it was _lack of wisdom_... On the other hand, I wanted to see the distant lands and rule my own land and people, and then I joined the Noldor's escape to Middle-earth..." She finished with thoughtful eyes now. "I called that _determination_..."

Elrohir listened to his grandmother's speech quite seriously and almost shuddered at the look she directed at him after that.

"Can you, my child, understand this subtle difference between which is _lack of wisdom_ and which is _determination_?" she asked and her eyes got brighter. "Fëanor captured the light of Two Trees in the Silmarils... _Lack of wisdom_? _Determination_? Fëanor led the Noldor to Alqualondë, on the coast of the Undying Lands to get the boats of the Teleri - The Teleri people were blood of our blood... People who lived by the Sea. My grandfather, Olwe was their leader. They refused to help, to provide the boats for that unthinkable movement... Of course they would refuse... _Lack of wisdom _versus _determination_..."

Galadriel paused for a moment with that memory and her eyes were teary at last. Elrohir shyly extended his hand, taking his grandmother's, and bringing a sad smile back to her face.

"Do you know what kinslaying means, _Astalder_?" she asked, and the twin paled instantly, lowering his face, but his grandmother made him raise his head again, understanding better than she would like the association her grandson had made. "Kinslaying is not hurting someone of your blood accidentally as you did, my warrior. Kinslaying is what Fëanor did in Alqualondë, when he stole the boats which had been denied to us and made many of the Teleri, those whose blood was as our own, fall without any mercy." She paused for a moment; in her face there was a chilling kind of fury. "Kinslaying... was the horrible act I should have prevented Fëanor from doing."

Elrohir looked at her with the same seriousness, his lips parted in a mixture of surprise by the emotions he saw in his grandmother and awareness of that truth which he had heard. Galadriel caressed his face again.

"And inspired by these sad stories, some people wrote laws... In order for people to think before committing such atrocities..." she added, lowering her eyes. "But all they achieved was to punish an innocent child—you, _Astalder_... While others, like me, who are guiltier, walk freely and still have their stories told in books."

Elrohir shook his head vehemently then, moved by the implied self condemnation he read in Galadriel's speech. He took his grandmother's hand again and, for the first time, lamented the vow he had made with his brother. He wanted to tell her how much guiltier he was than she, who only accompanied a kinsman on an unknown journey.

Galadriel again offered him a sad smile.

"Exile and curse. It was what remained to the Noldor for many years. And as a legacy we feel tired, so tired. We are tired of this land, even loving it. And this balanced desire to stay and to leave, sometimes drives us mad... My father knew how to do something I have not learned... At the right time he returned and asked the Valar forgiveness, becoming king of the Noldor in the Undying Lands. But my brothers and I continue on our journey; we were included in the Curse of Mandos," she said, looking sadly at the dark sky. "We could have returned, even after that, but we did not. We did not give up, even when Fëanor betrayed us, leaving us behind and secretly sailing with his relatives and closest followers in the few boats they had. I was very proud and ambitious. I would not go back and ask the _Valar's_ forgiveness when I could still try to reach Middle-earth and establish my own kingdom...

_Determination_ or _lack of wisdom_? He heard the question inside his mind, but felt that it was not his own voice asking it. He turned, astonished, and met the eyes of his grandmother, serious again, facing him.

"Do you know how many elves perished on that terrible journey of ice and death, when Fingolfin, Finrod and I led them through the Helcaraxë – The Grinding Ice that formed a dangerous route across the Sea in the far north?" she asked and Elrohir paled. "We finished the arduous and deadly passage eluding our ambitious hearts with the conformist idea that those who survived became stronger and more courageous with the hard experience," she added, with a sad laugh. She shook her head after that. Her eyes were distant again.

Elrohir shook his head as well, holding his grandmother's hand in a tighter grip. She smiled once more, squeezing his fingers in return and looking at him fondly.

"The unique advantage I actually see in the ups and downs of those hard times was having met your grandfather, and the family he helped me to have. He changed my life in such a way that even a new name for me came from his lips," she completed, glad to see a little smile on her grandson's face. "But I know that, despite everything he showed me, I'm still not quite sure I always agree with his concept of the difference between determination and lack of wisdom. There are still many feelings, many situations that I cannot properly classify into the group that your grandfather would insist they should be part of. I still do not know... I am still unsure. Sometimes I have conviction, agreeing with what he has tried to clarify for me; yet in situations such as the one you find yourself in, I still slip into the thinking I had before your grandfather explained his point of view..."

Elrohir stared at his grandmother, as her great blue eyes flashed bright, and it made the young elf's heart weigh even more.

"I think you understand why I'm telling you, unnecessarily, a story that you already know, don't you, _Astalder_?" she asked, and Elrohir immediately lowered his face, as soon as the answer to that question came to him. And even though it was on the tip of his tongue, he knew he could not say it.

Galadriel made him look at her again.

"My dear grandson. Of all the elves that have my blood, you are the one about whom I worry most. An entire nation can emerge from your hand and sword. I feel that..." she added, holding the young elf's face when he wanted to look away. He broke free of his grandmother, rising and taking a few undecided steps away from her, as if he did not know exactly where to go.

Galadriel looked at him with concern now. So much energy and he was so afraid to use it. Is this a good mix?

"I think that is why Ilúvatar gave you a thoughtful and charitable soul mate," she reminded him, then put a hand on her chest when Elladan's image came to her. Elrohir turned toward her, as if he visited the same memory.

"He is your balance, _Astalder,_ your advisor," Galadriel affirmed, rising and approaching her grandchild. "Your twin is gifted with a sense of wisdom different from yours, and that will be useful if you learn to hear him," she completed, and Elrohir finally lowered his face, looking sorrowful, with the memory of his brother.

Galadriel then came closer to her grandson and knelt before him to see his eyes, even hidden in his bowed head as they were.

"Do not worry. You will see him again, and you will engage him in many of your risky plans, _pen-neth,_" she said, and when Elrohir vehemently shook his head in response, she smiled. "Yes, you will...You will involve him in all kinds of confusion, and if you do not involve him, he will become involved on his own just to help you. That's why you have to be careful, _Astalder_, because nobody in this world loves you more than he does. He would give his life for you; he would trade his life for yours without thinking twice."

Elrohir swallowed those words with difficulty, and Galadriel kept looking at him for a few minutes, now seeming to be taken by other thoughts. There were days that the young elf could feel his grandmother staring at him. In the training camps, on his way to the talan, in the few meals they shared.

"Will you have dinner with us tonight?" she finally asked, retying a lace on the boy's shirt before getting up again.

Elrohir blushed, merely shaking his head negatively. He loved his grandmother with all his heart; but being with her more than necessary, especially in family situations, just made him miss his mother worse. In fact, the big problem was that he missed his _Naneth_. He missed her so much that he just couldn't endure any kind of social meeting here, especially the family ones.

"Your grandfather also laments, _Astalder_. It has been almost four moons without your presence in the dining community."

Elrohir looked down, as he always did when he was warned in some way. The last thing he wanted to do was to be part of a community meal, in which the majority would be with their families. He did not feel part of those people, even though they were gentle with him. He wanted to go home and could not get used to the idea that he could never do that. By _Elbereth_, he would do anything they wanted if he could go back. He was so sorry for everything that sometimes he thought he would burst. Sometimes the sadness was so overwhelming that it was a struggle just to wake up and leave the talan in the morning.

Galadriel raised his face again, and he allowed her to do it, but moved his eyes away from her instead of returning the gaze received. The beautiful elf offered a sad smile, then kissed his forehead.

"Recently I remembered something," she said, following her grandson now when he picked up the bag with his things, ready to make his way to his shelter. His grandmother's kiss for him was an authorization to leave.

Elrohir looked at her quickly, only to give the impression that he was following the conversation.

"I remembered when you were an elfling and bumped my mirror, knocking some of the water from it," she said, and Elrohir opened his eyes a little wider, as if the memory were a naughty child kicking his leg. He blushed slightly, rubbing the back of his neck, but this time he did not even look up.

Galadriel smiled.

"Now I have it in a calmer place, but I never felt the need to prove the value of its water from that day on, much less in the sense that you made me try then." She purposely provoked him a bit and Elrohir finally blushed, remembering his grandmother's soaked dress and her serious look in his direction. He glanced at her quickly. His remorseful eyes by themselves would have ended the matter, but the good Lady-elf did not seem as if she had brought back that memory to look for an unnecessary apology. She paused then, holding her grandson's arm. "After you finish bathing come again to see me," she said, pointing in a specific direction. "Do you see that star in the sky? Follow it and find me in the woods."

Elrohir looked, intrigued, in the direction she indicated, but when he turned back he realized his grandmother had departed without waiting for his answer, leaving him alone again, there in the training camp, with no alternative than to attend her mysterious request.


	6. The Vision

Hello! I'd like to thanks those ones who are still reading. Thanks a lot!

Some characters that are mentioned in this chapter are from Tolkien's _The Silmarillion_.

Hope you like reading it and want to send me your comments.

Thanks again,

Sadie

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><p><strong>CHAPTER VI – THE VISION<strong>

_Your future takes precedence over your past. Focus on your future, rather than on the past._

Gary Ryan Blain

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><p>Edhellond was an elf haven located on the cold waters of Blackroot River, near the point where it was joined by the Ringlo, which was a very cold river as well. The Blackroot then emptied its waters into Cobas Haven, a small inlet on the Bay of Belfalas. Edhellond was in the land of Edain people, but it was under the control of the elves. The translation of its name, Elven Haven, was a clear indication of that fact. However, the site where Edhellond was founded was originally inhabited by fisher-folk; they fled to the White Mountains when the firstborn of Ilúvatar arrived.<p>

The elven haven was established by elves whose conflicting origins are part of many theories. Elrohir was thinking about them now, walking through the forest, as he followed the path of the star his grandmother had shown him earlier. He was imagining the elves coming in those three big ships from Beleriand, after Morgoth's forces destroyed the havens of Brithombar and Eglarest in the First Age.

He had heard that history as soon as he arrived here with his grandparents. Those were sad times. He sighed, as he continued his walk through the evening air contemplating ages past. There was a second widely held theory—one that told of how the elves may have come at the beginning of the Second Age from the Grey Havens, where they had learned the craft of shipbuilding before seeking a place of their own.

Seeking a place of their own, he repeated to himself.

In fact nobody really knew the history of this intriguing place. What everybody knew was that, with time, the Sindarin Elves of Edhellond were soon joined by some Silvan Elves, or Wood-elves, who had come down the Anduin, leaving their forest homes because they longed for the Sea.

Elrohir did not long for the sea, nor even understand this sentiment about which many people spoke. However, he had a vague idea about how it would feel, because he longed, he desired to go back to his home, and if this feeling was similar to what made those elves risk their lives in foreign lands just to be a little closer to the place they loved, he understood them very well.

The twin closed his eyes, pulling from his pocket a small piece of paper on which his brother had sent him a message, a secret message his mother had hidden inside her letter. It was part of his punishment - although nobody liked to use that term – that he and Elladan could not communicate with each other while Elrohir was living here. His grandmother had told him this. She also told him that they could break that rule if he and Elladan started to talk with other people again. But Elrohir just shook his head, as he was sure Elladan had done in Imladris as well. They had made a vow and, even feeling terribly hurt for not being allowed to; at least, write to each other, they wouldn't break it.

No, they could not write to each other until they started speaking again. But his mother allowed this little transgression.

Elrohir read his twin's few words again.

_I hate that sword. I miss you so much._

Elrohir held the paper a little tighter; he had carried it wherever he went. He also hated that sword, and there was only one other thing he hated more than that damned weapon:

Himself…

He hated himself with all his heart. He hated himself for what he had done; for making his brother suffer. But most of all he hated himself for being so stupid.

And he also missed Elladan very much. Some nights he had horrible dreams of losing his twin forever. Elladan just disappeared in a dark cloud, and he could not do a thing to make him stay. He could not reach him. He could not touch him, embrace him.

And there was nothing he wanted more than being with his brother again.

Elrohir closed his eyes, wiping his face with his sleeve. He hated to be crying again, but couldn't help it. At least no one was watching him. He had cried a lot since he arrived in Edhellond, but he never allowed anyone to see him doing it. He could not. Not even his grandparents. They would try to comfort him and he did not want to be comforted.

He did not!

He did not want to be here!

He just wanted to go home.

_Elbereth_, what had he done? Why was he so stupid?

Elrohir took a deep breath, trying to focus again on the path he was following. He was not sure if he had understood his grandmother's directions. But soon he could see her white dress, bright amidst the trees in the middle of the dark woods, and he finally found the right way to take. After a few steps, the clearing which Galadriel had reserved for her moments of meditation was visible. It was a small and quiet place and, at first, the twin did not even see his grandmother's mirror.

Galadriel came up as soon as she saw him. In her face there was a gentle smile, which only she seemed to have, and that, surely, had placed her on the list of the most beautiful elves, maybe the most beautiful of all. She walked in Elrohir's direction, but her smile faded slowly as she noticed the sad look on her grandson's face. The waning light of nightfall made him look even more bereft. She understood why he was so unhappy, what he was missing so much. She would love to be able to fill the family role for the young elf, if only his heart were not as firmly closed as his lips were.

"_Quel undome_, _Astalder_," the elf-lady greeted him with a smile which Elrohir tried to return, as much as his spirit allowed him to. She opened her arms to him, but he hesitated to accept the invitation. Then, realizing that the proposal would not be declined, he took a few steps, immersing himself into those lovely arms. She then brought him to one of the benches and both sat down.

Elrohir tried to ignore his grandmother's presence, the scent of her hair, her kind energy. He had to, because, in almost everything, she reminded him of his mother; but she was not. He loved his grandparents but they were no substitute for his family.

He didn't want to be here. He was feeling too lonely and sad this night. He wanted to leave for his _talan_ and sleep as he usually did: Sleep, hoping secretly he would wake up one day and find out that everything had just been a nightmare.

Galadriel sat beside her grandson quietly for a few minutes. Although Celeborn had asked her not to spend too much time with Elrohir, in favor of what the boy needed to learn, she just could not follow her husband's advice in this. She felt that something was wrong in Elrohir's life, like a misplaced note in a song, in a very sad song. She held him a little tighter and noticed him close his eyes for a moment, finally seeming to give in a little, allowing himself to feel his grandmother's affection.

"Elrohir..." she called him by his name for the first time since he had arrived here months ago. _Astalder_ was what everyone called him. _Astalder_ was the nickname his grandfather gave him when he was a baby and that, even with its noble meaning, he was starting to hate. "Every pain has a purpose, my dear one," she said, and the twin closed his eyes again, this time as if he didn't want to hear the rest. This was a statement people had been repeating to him every single moment since the tragic and stupid event happened: _He had to learn from all he had done and all that had happened_. He already knew it by heart. _Ilúvatar,_ he didn't want to hear it again.

"Every pain has a purpose..." Galadriel repeated, now gently pulling his chin up to make him to look at her again. "But yours, _tithen-pen,_ does not have just a purpose, it has a reason as well, a reason that is not very clear to me," she completed, and the young elf frowned, but continued looking at her as if trying to understand what she meant. Galadriel traced her fingertips along the shadows under his sad eyes, and then looked up at one corner of the meadow.

Elrohir followed the movement attentively now, but glimpsing the object he dreaded to see, a chill ran down his spine, leaving a strange feeling in its wake, something he could not explain.

"I would like you to accompany me to the mirror" she said and the young elf shivered. "I will stand by your side and help you to interpret any image that may arise... Do you want to try?"

Elrohir shook his head rapidly in a vehement denial of what he knew he probably would be ashamed as an adult, but he could not help it. He could not help but fear with all his heart that experience. He had already heard about it, those ones who had practiced it, have compared it to the absolute discomfort of a rebirth.

Galadriel, however, only smiled, caressing again her grandson's face.

"It could clarify some things, _tithen-pen._ Important things ..."

At first the twin shook his head firmly in denial of his grandmother's request once more; then, confronting her silence, he pondered what those _important things _she spoke of might be. He looked at her again and only then he realized that, unlike other experiences people had talked about when using the mirror, the future was not what she was compelling him to see,, whatever it would be. She was looking for other information…

Elrohir gasped, feeling a strange expectation growing in his chest. Could doing this have some interpretation he'd not thought about? Could he find a way to get rid of his problems simply by looking into his grandmother's mirror? Could it be that easy?

There was no answer to that question, he knew. However, not even that expectation brought him courage enough to accept this invitation. He was so afraid. His grandmother's expression only seemed to confirm she knew that. It was very humiliating, but he couldn't help feeling this way.

Galadriel sighed then, and Elrohir thought she had given up.

She almost did, but she couldn't. There was a voice inside her compelling her to continue, a voice she could not ignore. She just held Elrohir's hand firmly, showing him her determination, but also her confidence that all would be well.

Elrohir gulped, but allowed himself to be led, even very reluctantly, closer to the mirror. Every step he took made him want to turn and run. When he was close to it, he started to feel as if his legs would fail, but he renewed his courage and continued to stand.

Finally he felt Galadriel's hand on his back, gently forcing him to take the last step that would place him in front of the mirror. When his image appeared distorted in the water, he could see the reflection of his grandmother's face behind him.

"Focus," she said. "I will be here with you."

_Focus_. He repeated to himself. But it was a hard command to follow when you are an elfling who doesn't know exactly what to focus on.

Elrohir took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. It was only then that it appeared. He did not know why, but he was sure that would be the first image he would see: That blessed dirty sword with its broken tip. The sword he took to the fire, he hammered mercilessly for days; the sword he had transformed into another weapon, whose brightness returned by his hand. But the image in the water was of a dark sword that took on the reflection of the sky... It was so beautiful...

It appeared in the mirror only for a moment; after that its image distorted again, transformed into a circle of flame spinning with the dark sky behind it. A moment after that it changed into a big ball of fire, a blazing star, which fell from the sky with the weight of an army, setting fire to the tall trees in its path and creating a large hole in the ground of a dark unknown wood.

Elrohir opened his eyes wide.

What was that? A star? Was it a star falling from the sky?

The elfling held his breath. He hadn't imagined how real the scenes from his grandmother's mirror could be.

But he hadn't much time to think about it. Soon the scene was dissipated into a cloud of smoke and a new image appeared: a different sword, which was placed beside another one. They were almost identical.

Before them a smith smiled, pleased with his creation. He was a tall, dark-haired elf who caressed the weapons as if they were living.

"_Anglachel_… _Anguirel_ ... You came from the sky..." he sang in a voice, whose melody was unforgettable. "You were forged from the most beautiful and strong star... You will have eternal life. You will have eternal life, and your owners, you will follow."

Elrohir felt his chin fall, mesmerized by the two glorious weapons. They were as identical as he and his brother were. However, as had happened before, he didn't have long to pay attention to the details of those magnificent blades. Soon their images disappeared, leaving the young elf with a nostalgic look on his face. Even he knew he was in his current situation because of a weapon like that, but he just could not stop his open admiration for this kind of sword. And those ones in the mirror… _Elbereth, _they were outstanding!

For his joy, one of the blades reappeared when it was passed from the hands of that dark-haired elf to a silver-blond one, whose garments resembled those of a great leader.

No, he was not just a leader, Elrohir noticed, when the strange elf brought the sword closer to his noble face to look at it better.

He was not just a leader… He was a king…

_Ilúvatar, _who was he? Elrohir still had no time to think about it, before a new image came up: the same king was passing the sword to another elf's hands. Elrohir didn't understand. Glorfindel always said that a sword only had one owner, but this one was passing from hand to hand as if no one really wanted it.

Why? By the _Valar_, it was so beautiful. If he had a sword like that, he would never give it to anyone.

The new owner's image became clearer. He was a very tall archer who looked at the weapon as if it weighed more than a thousand bows and quivers... Elrohir looked at him intently, his fair face, the big bow in his hands. He also knew him from somewhere, but couldn't remember where.

It was then that something totally different and strange happened: all those scenes of brightness turned into darkness; for a minute or two he could not see anything, until a new image was formed, and he wished he had continued to not see a thing…

The archer… was dead, the very weapon he'd just been gazing at buried in his chest, his blood dripping from his body…

Elrohir shuddered, and his grandmother's hands squeezed his shoulders slightly.

She didn't say a word, as if she was focused on the scene as well.

Elrohir wanted to close his eyes, but he couldn't. He just kept staring the mirror. He had never seen a dead elf before. Not even in the books…

And there was too much blood…

He soon realized that the archer's body was not only bathed in blood, he was also bathed in tears… Tears of someone else…

A person who was not an elf ... He was an adan, a human being.

Elrohir felt his body freeze, watching the cry of that stranger, whose body twisted as he sobbed out words of regret. He seemed so hurt, inconsolable. They must have been friends, the young elf thought. It must be really hard to lose a friend that way. He couldn't even imagine.

The twin felt his grandmother's hold on his shoulders again as the scene faded, the water of the mirror mixed with the tears of the grieving man. He felt as if he couldn't breathe. What a heartbreaking scene! _Ilúvatar, _that was the most horrible image he had ever seen.

Everything was swallowed by a dense fog then. Elrohir lowered his eyes and sighed, thinking that maybe it was the last thing the mirror would show him.

But he was wrong, and soon his eyes were back gazing at the water. The image of that unfortunate adan soldier resurfaced. Elrohir shuddered as soon as he saw him. He couldn't explain, but he felt something for him, as if he was looking at a close relative, a member of his family. The adan was shouting now, brandishing his sword to the sky, crazed, delirious as if an uncontrollable pain was tearing him apart, was killing him.

Elrohir's breathing quickened; he knew something was very wrong. That poor adan was suffering again. What terrible thing could have happened? Why was that soldier so desperate again?

And when Elrohir thought he had already seen enough of suffering and pain, the adan soldier did the most unthinkable act: He set the hilt of the sword upon the ground, and cast himself upon the black point of the blade, ending his life in the cruelest way. The impact of the sword piercing his chest was so hard that the tip of the sword broke.

After everything he had seen, this image was unbearable to watch. Elrohir turned his face away with the force of it and lunged into Galadriel's embrace as if by instinct alone. It felt like his own chest was burning, as if all that pain was inside him now. His grandmother covered his head with her slender hand, stroking his hair, hugging him tightly.

"It's gone..." she said in a sweet voice. "It's over, _tithen-pen_..."

With some effort she brought him back to the bench they had left, leaving behind the mirror and its intricate images. They sat side by side once more. Galadriel continued to embrace her trembling grandson, and watched the boy's pale face closely. He kept his eyes closed tight, as if the image repeated itself in his mind endlessly.

Galadriel waited a little longer, worried, and then tried to call him, to pull him up from the place those distressing images were taking him. Then, realizing that her grandson could not calm down enough to rid himself of what he had seen, she laid her hand on his face, covering his eyes. She started to sing a very sweet song, a song Elrohir had never heard before. It seemed to be a song of rescue, taking him from his world of pain and anguish, leaving him hovering in another world, a world of dreams.

When he woke up, he was on a sofa in his grandparent's shelter, and he felt the first moments of peace he'd had in the endless time since he had come to Edhellond. The first thing he saw was his grandmother talking carefully with her husband.

"It's been a long time since the mirror has shown such strong scenes…" Elrohir heard Galadriel's voice whispering, but Celeborn just shook his head, placing a hand over hers. They continued talking then, but Elrohir could not listen anymore, because they were doing something that was common to them: they were having a mental conversation. Maybe they silenced their voices because they thought he was sleeping, or maybe because they didn't want him to hear them; maybe for both reasons.

Elrohir frowned. Why was he here? He couldn't remember…

He tried to rise, but the elf-lady came quickly to him, placing her hands on his shoulders and making him lie down again.

"Go back to sleep, Elrohir," she said. "This night you will stay with us."

The twin lay down again, as his grandmother compelled him to do, but his eyes remained open. He looked around himself with concern, still not understanding how he got here. Only after concentrating intently for a time did the images from the mirror come back to him suddenly. He rose again quickly, this time leaving no chance for his grandmother to stop him. He staggered a few steps and was soon supported by Celeborn, who embraced him, bringing him back to the couch.

"Calm down, _Astalder,_" he said, making the twin sit again, although he could tell that Elrohir was not willing to go back to sleep.

Elrohir looked at Celeborn for a minute, but then his eyes moved to his grandmother, and then his gaze wandered around the entire place around him. He finally shuddered, covering his face with both hands, as if he was not able to organize the images he was seeing; as if he were unable to separate what he was really seeing from all those things he'd seen in the mirror that were torturing his mind.

Celeborn's arm covered his grandson's shoulders, and then the secure sound of the lord elf's voice filled Elrohir's senses once again.

"Everything will be all right, _Astalder_," he assured, slowly caressing Elrohir's arm in a simple act of kindness, but which had an undeniable power.

Elrohir relaxed a bit, feeling peace in that warm sensation coming from his grandfather; it was a comforting peace that quieted his spirit for a while. However, he was breathing fast and he felt his grandparents' concern. He looked at them alternately, not sure about what he was looking for in their faces.

"Your grandmother acted _unwisely_," Celeborn said. Elrohir had heard that expression before, and thinking about its meaning made him raise his eyes, surprised to hear his grandfather make such a comment. However, his grandmother did not seem offended by her husband's reproach.

"He's right, Elrohir. I should not expose the truth of the mirror to someone so young. It is not... _wise_..." she said with distant eyes. But there was a glow on her face which seemed to show no regret; a provocative glow that, in other circumstances, might have brought a smile to the younger twin, if he had not again begun seeing the images the mirror had shown him before.

How could those scenes have such power? Everything was so real...

"I see I need to do something to correct my _lack of wisdom._" The tone in Galadriel's voice made him abandon his questions for a moment. "Tell me, dear one. Do you want me to help you to understand what you saw, or would you like me just to help you to forget it?" she asked.

Elrohir kept his eyes open and fixed on her for a moment, and there were such mixed feelings in them that Galadriel almost regretted having given her grandson this choice. Maybe Celeborn was right, and it would be better if they all just forgot those images for a while.

But Elrohir continued looking at her with his darkened eyes, as if pleading for some explanation. Galadriel realized how much the young elf wanted to understand what happened. She already had her answer. She moved her eyes to her husband then, and Celeborn looked down, visibly upset with the situation.

"Once upon the time, there was a noble member of the royal house of Doriath named Thingol. In fact, this elf was the king's own kin. You know who Thingol was, don't you?" Galadriel said, beginning her story.

Elrohir nodded, the image of one of the first three elves who visited the Sacred Realm of Valinor always impressed him.

"Well, the dark-haired elf you saw was Eöl, known by many people as _the_ _Dark Elf_. Do you know Eöl's history, Elrohir?" she asked, and the young elf frowned, trying to remember. "Well. Let me help you with that part. At first, Eöl lived in his homeland, but at one point of his life he felt the urge to go and live in the dark forest of _Nan Elmoth,_ east of where he lived. Eöl was one of the most talented craftsmen, and a master blacksmith as no other. Among all he had made in his occupation, the more relevant pieces were the two swords you saw. They were special weapons because they were made with a different and very rare material. A material you cannot find anywhere here. He had forged them using the iron of a fallen star. You know what a fallen star is, don't you, Elrohir?"

The twin took a few moments to answer, because his mouth fell completely open with that information. Where was his mind when Erestor explained such an interesting fact? Soon he pressed his mouth closed, nodding in a positive response.

"Good. Well, _Anglachel_ and _Anguirel_ were the names of those weapons. Twin swords... Eöl gave _Anglachel_ to Thingol as fee for the right to live in _Nan Elmoth_, and it is the saga of this particular sword that seems to interest us, because it was their owners you saw in the mirror," she added, looking intently at her grandson, trying to feel what the information was awakening in him. "Do you want to ask something, Elrohir? You know that your vow of silence is not necessary in case of need."

Elrohir took a deep breath, as if he was thinking about the suggestion, but then he made an emphatic negative with his head, continuing to look closely at his grandmother. He seemed interested in hearing the rest of the story.

"Well, the archer you saw receiving the sword is Beleg _Cúthalion_, Chief of the Marchwardens of Doriath. He was a brilliant archer throughout his existence, until _Anglachel_ came to his hands," she explained and, realizing her grandson had frowned again, she explained. "The _adan_ you saw was Túrin Turambar, son of Húrin Thalion and Morwen Eledhwen and a great man of his time. About him many songs were sung and there are still many legends."

Elrohir frowned again. Túrin Turambar. That name was familiar. Yes, indeed Erestor had spoken about him before. By _Ilúvatar_, he should have paid more attention to the old stories his mentor told him.

"Elrohir?" his grandmother called him, and the twin awoke from his reverie, in which he had been trying very hard to rescue that particular memory, but could not. Certainly he had not listened carefully enough to Erestor's stories and lessons. He offered an apologetic look to his grandmother.

"Well, it was because of this human friend that Beleg chose to wield the sword, even knowing the negative energy it carried," Galadriel added and pressed her lips when she saw her grandson pale at hearing this information. Elrohir's eyes were rounded, and he looked to his grandfather, who was still by his side, as if to make sure he had heard correctly.

"Yes, _Astalder,_" confirmed the silver haired elf lord. "Beleg served Thingol and the king's wife Melian and was beloved by them. As the good soldier he was, he decided to ask the King's permission to quit his post and help Túrin Turambar. As Túrin was loved as a son by Thingol as well, he gave Beleg his permission to go and protect him. Moreover, he told Beleg to choose whatever he wanted in the entire king's arsenal, except the king's sword."

"Beleg chose _Anglachel_," Galadriel completed sadly. The story seemed to touch her. "The Queen tried to warn him about the weapon. According to Melian, the sword carried the black heart of its owner, Eöl, and would never love or stay with another person for long. There was malice in it."

Elrohir shuddered, looking to his grandfather again, who seemed quite uncomfortable with the nature of the conversation they were having. Celeborn bestowed a warning glance on his wife, who just took a deep breath, shaking her head slightly. Finally, the elf lord sighed, agreeing reluctantly to tell the rest of the story.

"It was the sword's intent, as Melian perhaps feared, to steal from Beleg _Cúthalion_ his very life," he added, looking attentively at his grandson. Realizing that Elrohir did not really know that story, he explained: "Beleg died by the hands of his own friend, Túrin, when he was trying to help the adan after an ambush. Túrin was unconscious, and when he woke up, the darkness and the evils of torture he had suffered by the enemy made him act blindly in his own defense. He did not recognize his friend, taking Beleg's weapon and killing him with it… He killed Beleg with _Anglachel,_" Celeborn completed, and regretted to see the twin pale alarmingly. Elrohir's eyes danced, before closing to escape what they seemed to see. The elf lord understood far better than he wished the associations his grandson was setting between that story and his own.

A silence fell over the place as Celeborn and Galadriel looked at each other. They still had much to discuss, but they felt that time had turned from ally to enemy. Elrohir was so lost again in the echoes of these sad stories and his own conclusions that he did not realize they were again speaking silently to one another, and just what was in his grandparents' quietness.

"Túrin had _Anglachel_ in his hands too," remembered the elf lord, putting his hand on Elrohir's head, drawing the elfling's attention again to a story Celeborn now needed to see finished. Only then Elrohir remembered the last and most striking scene of his vision in the mirror and suddenly became unwilling to find out the reason of so terrible an image. He grabbed his grandfather's robe and his face paled.

Celeborn was startled, and then he sighed, taking the hand of the trembling child in his.

"What Túrin did is called suicide_, pen-neth_," he said. "It's an extreme act that I have only seen the Edain committing. It is different from elves who fall as prey of the pain. We… Elves, sometimes just seek a rest. But Edain, when they give up living, they do not seem to want to get rid of their bad experiences here, they seem to have a burning desire to get free of their own selves."

Elrohir shuddered again with his grandfather's explanation. He began to rub his arms as if he was feeling cold and his grandmother took one of his hands reassuringly.

"Túrin had his reasons for committing such an act," she said, ignoring another warning glance from her husband. "Read, when it's possible, _Narn i Chîn Húrin,_ the sad story of the Children of Húrin, and you will understand, Elrohir."

"Well, what matters is that we now understand where the story of this weapon ends," Celeborn said.

"If it has indeed ended," Galadriel added, making Elrohir frown again.

"In _Nargothrond_, Túrin took the weapon of his friend Beleg to be re-forged by skilled blacksmiths. The _adan_ warrior gave it a new name: _Gurtang._"

"The Iron of Death," Galadriel translated, receiving another look of reprimand from her husband when their grandson shuddered again. "In History there are beautiful facts and sad facts. With both we learn," she justified, holding the young elf's hand a little tighter. "The final scene we saw was the fall of Túrin," she added. "He looked for death on his own sword."

"Something that is also part of this history, is the fact that the hero was buried with his weapon," Celeborn remembered, frowning, intrigued when he felt the attention of his wife on him and realizing that Galadriel did not seem comfortable with this hypothesis. "He, his mother Morwen, even the memory of his sister, though her body could not be found, are buried under their tombstone, the Stone of the Hapless. The grave was one of the few locations in _Beleriand_ which did not disappear after the drowning at the end of the First Age. It is an island now… _Tol Morwen. _And nobody has ever stepped there since then," remembered the elf.

Elrohir's eyes seemed to look inward, confused by his grandparents' tales. Although they appeared to be telling him the end of the sword's sad history, it was like they were also trading mysterious information in those lines, information he could not understand.

Celeborn finally turned to meet the bright eyes of his grandson, which looked at the elf lord again with the expression he sometimes directed to him, as if he saw in his grandfather his only anchor.

"Ai, _Astalder,_" Celeborn said as he hugged Elrohir a little tighter. "Could we exchange of favors?" he asked, and Elrohir frowned. "You forget the oath you swore to your brother for a moment and let me hear your voice, and I will take you home tomorrow."

Elrohir's eyes widened and a smile, which would have been the first to appear on his face since he arrived, almost brightened his face, but the impression of happiness soon disappeared, and the twin squeezed both hands over his lap, as if being hit by a huge pain.

"Come on. One word and you will go to see your loved ones, including your own brother. Elladan will certainly understand why you broke the promise you made to each other," Celeborn insisted, and waited for a moment that he would never forget. Never had so few minutes looked so painful. Elrohir closed his eyes; his head was bowed, his chin almost resting upon his chest. He then exhaled, and when Celeborn judged he would hear his grandson's voice, tears began to run from the boy's eyes. Elrohir shook his head vigorously as he rose and tried to run away.

"Wait, Elrohir!" His grandmother's voice was what stopped him, and it was his great respect for her that kept the twin from leaving, even when he was already at the door. But he did not turn back; he had no courage to face his grandparents, to imagine that, in some way, he had disappointed them again. All he did was let people down. In moments like these he began to believe that he was indeed lost, beyond hope and unworthy of any help.

He then felt his grandfather's hand on his shoulder, making him turn to him. Elrohir obeyed slowly, fearing even more to read the disappointment in the elf lord's face. Celeborn bowed slightly to look at him more closely, but in the eyes of the silver-haired elf there was no disappointment. He just put a hand on the twin's chest fondly.

"Would you not break your oath with Elladan even if this could guarantee your return home?" he asked, and Elrohir clenched his fists in an anger, which appeared to be more against himself than directed at anyone else. He then shook his head vigorously, causing a mysterious smile to appear on the lips of his grandfather. "Well, if you are willing to keep your word to your brother, even after knowing what I am offering you in return, it is because your time here is over, boy, and your dignity restored. Now, we must go to your home so we can try to do the same for another person: the one who has been protecting you."


	7. The Return - Part 1

Hello. Hope you are okay.

I just wanted to thanks every good soul who is reading the story and send me some comment. You make my day, dear friends.

Hope you like this chapter.

Love

Sadie

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><p><strong>CHAPTER VII<strong>** - THE RETURN - Part I**

_Turn your face always toward the sun and then the shadows will fall behind._

**Proverb**

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><p>Galadriel inhaled the scent of the wet forest, the characteristic aroma of a place she knew well. In her opinion, Imladris was one of the last places in which peace still reigned, even being constantly threatened by the traps of destiny.<p>

The elf-lady took a deep breath. She was on her horse, which weaved its way down the winding trail into the valley below. The gentle walk of her animal seemed to be a sign of its reverence to her thoughts. She and Celeborn had lived in Rivendell, after the fall of Eregion. She remembered that time very well. They were received with respect by Elrond, and he had gotten their daughter's attention the first time Celebrian saw him. Even though she had few opportunities for long conversation with the leader of the city during the time she and her parents lived there, Celebrian had not been able to keep her eyes from following the dark-haired elf's figure whenever he was near.

Galadriel sighed briefly, remembering that time in their lives. Elrond had not been in any of her visions of her family's future. The healer had been a mystery to her, an elf who was uniquely different from the others she had met before. In fact he was not exactly the person she would have chosen to be her daughter's husband, had she been allowed to decide Celebrian's future.

Nowadays, however, such an idea aroused in her a peaceful smile. It did not take long, after that time of uncertainty, for Galadriel to discover how much she was mistaken about what was hidden behind Elrond's shield of kindness and patience, a shield that had awoken some fear in Galadriel's maternal heart. Elrond was genuinely kind and patient, that was undeniable, but his sense of duty and justice was beyond any other the blond lady had noticed before; it made him one of the most admirable elves she had ever known.

Yes. Sense of duty and justice. And now, due to this quality, the lord of Rivendell was at a difficult crossroad in his life.

"Will Elrond not even come to greet us?" Galadriel asked then, when they crossed the portals of the city and she saw the Last Homely House. In front of the main door there was just the white figure of her daughter, standing on the balcony alone to wait for them. "Certainly some of the sentinels have informed him of our arrival."

Celeborn pressed his lips together, and then looked at his silent grandson who was riding next to him. Elrohir's eyes were fixed on that same white figure, as if there was nothing else in the world around him.

"Elrond is devoid of his tasks," Celeborn recalled, in a deliberate low tone, trying to keep his grandson's interest away from what they were talking about. Elrohir's attention was concentrated on his mother, and, although it did not particularly show, Celeborn knew Elrohir certainly must be savoring a small taste of happiness after all this time. He was not willing to spoil this special moment.

Galadriel locked her lips as she remembered the consequences of the situation they had left behind in Imladris all those months ago. The punishment had been severe. Elrond was no longer allowed to rule the place he had idealized, he had helped to build. He was dishonored by the council, condemned to live in his own homeland as a stranger. He could no longer act as a healer, he could not advise his people;and she suddenly realized that if Elrond could not be there to meet his in-laws as the ruler of the city, he wouldn't be there at all. However, the one who was now exercising this role was someone who didn't seem exactly satisfied with it.

Galadriel's horse was closer to the large house now, and she could see her daughter's face, bathed in tears. In a few moments Celebrian raised both arms, calling the one who was already looking at her as if he was just waiting for that call.

Elrohir breathed deeply, and then he looked anxiously to his grandfather. Celeborn felt his heart ache as he saw that his grandson still remembered who he had to obey, at least until he was given over into his mother's care, and he was now asking permission to answer her call.

The silver-haired lord lifted the corners of his lips in a patient smile, answering the unspoken question with a brief nod. He then dealt with the emotion of seeing the young elf jump from his horse while it was still in motion and running as only he could, rocketing up the stairs, barely touching the steps, and finding the place he wanted in his mother's arms.

A bitter taste slipped down Celeborn's throat then, especially when he received a very brief look from his daughter, who already had her son locked in her embrace.

"Oh, _Rohir-nín!_ How I missed you, dear one," she said, pushing the boy back a bit just to look at him. She then held him close once more, as if she didn't want her child to ever leave her arms again. Elrohir's face was also moist with tears; he held onto his mother's clothes with clenched fists, and he closed his eyes tightly when she hugged him again.

Celeborn and Galadriel dismounted and approached slowly. When they stopped in front of the stairway entrance, Celebrian was forced to leave the only thing that had brought her pleasure in recent months, moving Elrohir a bit away as she tried to stand on her wobbly legs.

_"Mae govannen, adar-nín... naneth-nín..."_ she greeted her parents with a diplomacy that made her the perfect Lady of Imladris, but visibly distanced her from the affectionate daughter who had always greeted her parents at other times. Beside her, Elrohir embraced his mother's waist while she put a hand on his back with the firmness of one who is willing to face a war.

Celeborn calmly looked at her, before offering his hand to his wife for the last few steps that separated them from their daughter.

Celebrian watched their movement, fearful as she had never been before. Because of Elrohir returning, she felt weak. She never wanted to go through this heartache again.

However, when they were before her, she did not see reproach in their eyes. It was quite the contrary. Celeborn abandoned all formality and approached, taking his daughter in his arms without any hesitation.

_"Ield-nin,"_ he said in her ear, and just the mere tone of his paternal voice stole all Celebrian's sorrows and uncertainties. She embraced him at last, returning the hug received.

"_Ada_... Please..." she begged in a whisper so that only her father could hear. "Do not take him away from me again. Please ..."

Celeborn closed his eyes briefly, and then ran gentle hands through his daughter's curls before releasing her.

"We are all where we should be at this moment," he said, staring at those wet eyes with a reassuring smile. "Some temporarily, others permanently," he completed, glancing at his grandson, who dropped his shoulders in relief when he understood his grandfather's words.

Celebrian forced a smile again, offering a look of contentment to her child, even in a face still wet with tears. Having her son in Imladris again was a relief, even though Elrond would be unable to share the supervision of Elrohir with her.

Galadriel and Celeborn were then presented with an image that they had not seen for a long time—Elrohir smiling at them, watching his mother as she received an affectionate hug from his grandmother. Soon, however, his eyes roamed over the place carefully.

Noticing her son's searching glance, Celebrian said, "Your brother is in the training camp with Glorfindel. But he is still not completely recovered, so you both must be on your best behavior there," she added. She almost regretted having said it when she noted her son's face grow pale with the information. "Do not worry, dear one," she assured, smoothing the young elf's disheveled hair with affection. "I think he will get better quickly now."

Her comment seemed to be enough to move the twin's eyebrows back to their relaxed position, but there was still a concern expressed on his face, especially when his eyes focused on the front door, as if looking for someone else. This fact made Celebrian look with anguish at her parents, before facing the young elf again.

"The one you would like to see, my dear, wished to be here, but he cannot..." she clarified, and Elrohir's eyes moved saddened to the ground at his feet. Celebrian lifted his chin, making him look at her again. "But do not think that because he is not here, even as your father, _ion-nîn_, that he does not love you as he always did. He also cannot be at his position here in this city, but at no time has he stopped loving this place as he always has. It is the same with the inhabitants of Imladris; they still love him. While his name is no longer in their songs, he still gets the same loving look from everyone with whom he eventually meets. Worry not. He has not changed. He is still the elf our people love. He will always be your father and he still loves you, ion-nîn."

Elrohir stared at his mother for a while, his eyes darkened because of pain and doubt. In her gentle voice all sounded very simple, and he could even believe in that, if he did not know very well who was responsible for his father's situation. The twin raised his eyes again, offering a simple nod, indicating that he had understood. After that, he took a deep breath, and his family realized that he was trying not to cry. He looked toward the training camp, and then he moved his eyes to his mother in a silent request.

Celebrian sighed, resigned, but all she did was nod, giving the child what he wanted for now.

There was more than one training camp in Rivendell. Some were slightly larger for big tests and techniques requiring much space, others smaller. Some were a little closer, others more distant. Elrohir went through all of them, even though he was sure he would only meet Elladan on his last attempt. Actually, he was gaining time, letting the tears dry up and his features get back to normal before his brother could see him.

Yes, he knew where Elladan was.

There was a small training camp on the way to the waterfall. He climbed the steep steps of one of the side stairs and took a shortcut through the trees that few elves were willing to use. It was an isolated place, but it was of good size and was blessed by the singing of birds. Elrohir was never bothered that much while training; he did not notice if people were watching him or not, nor did any sort of noise bother him. His concentration was perfect anywhere, at least that was what Glorfindel always said. But Elladan was different. He felt better in the woods, hearing the sound of trees and animals. For this reason, the younger twin knew exactly where his brother would be training. What he hadn't expected, however, was seeing what Elladan had in his hands when Elrohir finally caught sight of him.

When he saw his identical image across the field, Elrohir felt lost for the first time. Elladan was, in fact, in a serious training process, but he was not holding the wooden sword he had always used. There was in his brother's hands, to his surprise, a big bow.

And the arrows were landing very true! At least that was what he could see, watching their rapid course from his brother's quiver to the target: a circle a few good meters away from Elladan, whose center was already full of arrows like the ones he was shooting continually.

_Elbereth_, Elladan was an archer! And he was not an ordinary archer!

"Two of them now, _elfling_!" encouraged Glorfindel's voice, whose face the younger twin could not see from where he was. But Elrohir had not even thought of looking for his mentor; his eyes were too stuck to the quick movement of his brother. Elladan pulled two arrows from his quiver and sent them twinned and accurate to the target, making the chin of the younger brother completely fall.

"Three now, Elladan!" Glorfindel's voice became more urgent, and that seemed to motivate his pupil, who drew three arrows without hesitating, and made them follow the same perfect course as the ones before.

"_Ilúvatar, toron-nîn!_" Elrohir proudly exclaimed to himself, an authentic smile on his face.

Only then the mentor's figure emerged from the trees, with the same proud smile on his face. Elladan continued to shoot the arrows, steadfast, ignoring the emotion that was surging more with each of his movements. That was Elladan; no praise would compel him to feel differently than he was, unless it was his father's praise. The older twin was a firm rock in the field, facing his successes as he faced his failures, as one moment more in the learning process. However, in his walks through the forest, any smile of approval from his father by his side, because he had found the right herb they sought, or because he had made the accurate repetition of a potion, brought him an uncontrollable tremor of satisfaction.

"You did a good job!" Glorfindel put his hand on the young elf's shoulder, preventing him from taking the next arrow. "It's enough for today or your mother will be angry. We have gone past the time allotted," he added in a different tone than usual, a tone that was only cleared with the sentence that followed: "I think you have already impressed your visitor enough for today."

Only then Elladan seemed to be affected by Glorfindel's words. He turned his worried frown toward the foliage and, by coincidence or for any other reason that only twins would understand, his eyes immediately met his brother's, even with Elrohir hidden as he was in the trees. The younger twin held his breath and paled, and the oldest was petrified for a moment. Elladan's lips slowly parted, then he let the bow fall from his hand, pulled the buckle of his quiver to be free of it as well, and ran toward his brother.

Glorfindel did not move; he'd waited anxiously to see this reunion. The brothers hugged each other tightly and stayed embraced, as if they might remain joined together forever. The mentor analyzed them from afar; he listened to their silence, understood their pain.

Actually they talked, he knew... They were twins and long ago had discovered how to unite their minds and overcome obstacles.

It was what they were doing, Glorfindel was sure. Still hugging each other, one sometimes moved his head on the shoulder of the other, an affirmation or a denial, seedling responses to questions that only interested them. They were brothers. They were twins. The silence that had distanced them from the others, did not imprison them.

"What about this poor mentor here? May he also greet the newcomer?" Glorfindel finally asked, after realizing he had already given them enough time; whatever they were talking about now, it was awakening in them more grief than joy. Elladan reluctantly broke away from his brother, but offered a small smile when he saw the wistful air in his twin's face as he looked at his master.

"Come on you naughty elfling." Glorfindel waved his right hand toward himself, emphasizing the request.

Elrohir hesitated a moment longer, then approached slowly. When he was close enough, he was suddenly grabbed by his master and raised in the air. By _Elbereth_, only Glorfindel was strong enough to do that, considering how grown his pupils already were.

Elrohir let out a laugh, then he was echoed by his brother, who was watching the scene. Their mentor was moved, keeping Elrohir in his arms a moment longer before putting him down and hugging him properly.

"I missed you, Elrohir," he said, clutching his pupil to his chest and stroking his hair. "I can barely contain my curiosity to know what those incompetents from the harbor were able to teach you," he joked, and was glad again to feel the twin laugh with his face pressed against his chest. Elladan walked toward them slowly, a smile on his face. Glorfindel pulled him closer then, embracing the two brothers.

Sitting in his bed now, Elrohir stared at the walls and the furniture of his room as if he were in a strange place. Nothing had really changed during his absence. Everything was still where it should be... Everything but himself... He was not able to feel part of this universe anymore. Not because he did not love all these things, but because he could no longer feel worthy of being here.

He remembered this evening, when he was at the dinner table with the others. He could not really appreciate the food which he had missed so much. How could he do that when one of the most important places at the table was empty?

The twin sighed sadly, before noticing that his brother was standing in front of the bedroom mirror with a worried look aimed toward him.

Elrohir lowered his head, crossing his legs as he sat on the bed. Elladan dropped his shoulders, and walked away. Only then did the younger twin notice his brother's weary movements, while he was preparing himself for sleep.

"_Does it still hurt_?" he asked his brother silently, as soon as Elladan lay down beneath the covers. The older twin was startled. Elrohir had learned well to get into his brother's mind, as it was always open for him, but he had difficulties in repaying the favor. He just kept staring at his brother, waiting for the answer, and when Elladan merely shook his head in a very unconvincing way, he added: _"If it still bothers you so, why did Ada allow you to train?"_

Elladan looked down, and his response was a mere lifting of shoulders and an air of one who was not really feeling much pain. Elrohir didn't like that answer either, thinking that it might have been a difficult decision for their parents to allow the training. But then an idea occurred to the younger brother; maybe such a decision had been made to prevent something worse than mere pain or discomfort at the end of the day. After all, he remembered well the strenuous training sessions he had put himself through while he was away. They were the only shelter in the port he had to keep from thinking about why he was so far away from the ones he loved.

Yes, being separated must have been as hard for his brother as it had been for him.

He thought of asking him about that, but was interrupted by knocking on the bedroom door. Neither he nor Elladan had broken the vow of silence they had. Neither knew why, so they were both silent, waiting for whoever was there, to decide to come in anyway.

Soon the image of their mother appeared with her usual smile. She walked in, accompanied by Lady Idhrenniel.

"Good evening, _ionath-nin,_" she greeted them, waving her right hand in an invitation to her dark-haired friend to follow her in.

Elrohir was surprised to see the healer there, but he didn't question. The air of utter displeasure on his brother's face was enough to clarify the reason for Idhrenniel's presence. Both lady-elves approached the bed, and Elladan crossed his arms over his chest.

"Come on. No childishness tonight, all right?" Celebrian sat next to her son, as she took hold of his arms and forced him to allow Idhrenniel to do her work. "Now that your brother is here, you will not want him to see you acting as an elfling, will you?"

Elladan sighed, discontented. It was never his nature to be an unpleasant or rude child, but it was clear that the situation practically forced him to be so. He pressed his jaws together and swallowed his protests, as usual, while his mother loosened the ties of his nightshirt to provide the healer the image she needed to see.

Elrohir gasped when he saw that same reddish scar emerge from under the bandage. By _Elbereth_, the accident was so long ago! Why was it still so raw? He then jumped out of bed, approaching, so pale and astonished that Celebrian took him by the hand, pulling him to sit close to his brother.

"Everything is going to be all right, dear one," she assured him, concerned with the fixed way the youngest was still looking at the injury. "Now that you are here I think your brother will heal completely. Won't you, _El-nîn_?" she asked her firstborn, pushing aside the hair that hid his face so that she could look at him. But Elladan kept his head down. It was clear that he wanted to escape that worried look everybody always offered him.

"Absolutely." Lady Idhrenniel was the one who assured it, moving her eyes quickly to the younger twin, but still keeping her hands over the wound, trying to feel how the healing process was progressing. "Today it is already much better than yesterday."

Neither Elladan, nor his brother reacted to that information, and this fact created a moment of uncomfortable silence. Idhrenniel stood up then. After exchanging a concerned glance with Celebrian, she looked at the two brothers once again.

"Try not to overdo on the training field tomorrow, Elladan," she said from the door. He just nodded his head, without raising it. "Have a good night, boys," she completed, looking fondly at the younger twin. "It's good to see you back home, Elrohir."

Elrohir looked at her, placing his hand on his chest to show respect and to thank the dark-haired lady. Both brothers had great affection for the quiet and gentle Idhrenniel, whose attentive and competent image seemed to be part of the house of healing. However, at that moment, her presence had aroused antagonistic feelings of the worst kind. She was not the one he expected to see taking care of his brother. He understood his father could not see him, or did not want to, but why was he not looking after Elladan?

After the healer had left, Celebrian sat with her children for a while, noting their solemn faces and how they avoided looking at each other. She was quiet for a few more minutes, until she realized that without her interference, they could all stay this way until dawn.

"Well," she said, taking a deep breath and standing up. "Bed now for you two, elflings." She gently pulled the younger son by the hand and took him to his bed. Elrohir obeyed like an automaton, slipping quietly beneath the blankets and allowing his mother to cover him. Celebrian smiled at him, watching the child's big darkened eyes with a disguised grief. She kissed him on both cheeks, keeping her hands on her son's face for a while. "I have to thank the good _Ilúvatar_ you are here, _Rohir-nîn_. I am very happy."

Elrohir smiled shyly, allowing his mother to kiss him even more and offer him a few more caresses. He had also missed her tremendously, but now his heart was saddened again, and he just could not be happy like she was. Celebrian seemed to realize that fact, so she sat near him for a while, smiling slightly.

"Your father is happy too, dear one," she said, reading the child's uncertainties. She pressed her lips together, noticing her words didn't convince her son. However Elrohir didn't offer his mother much time to read his reaction. He quickly looked away. Celebrian sighed. "He just cannot act as healer here anymore, _ion-nîn_. You know that, don't you? That's why he asked Idhrenniel to take care of your brother. Isn't it true, _El-nîn_?"

Elladan only nodded without looking at them, and Celebrian kept watching her older son, realizing that Elrohir's arrival did not seem to be waking in him the good feelings that she wanted to see. Elladan had missed his brother; that was undeniable, but he also wanted to have the opportunity to study with his father again, as he always did. Idhrenniel offered to instruct him, but the twin simply did not want the help of anyone other than his father.

Celebrian looked once more at her two children, feeling as if she was the worst mother in the world simply because she did not know what to do or say. She herself was not satisfied with the situation as it had concluded, with her husband stripped of his title and livelihood. And many others in the city seemed equally upset.

That old code of conduct needed to be reassessed. It was what she had been saying to the council members every day, seeming to read in their eyes the same desire. It was horrible to notice that it was fear that did not permit those elves to act like they wished to. The law had protected them; it had been a strong mechanism to prevent some bad attitudes, to prevent the same sad experiences of the past from happening again. That was the reason for their fear of creating an exception, even in a small and innocent case like this.

With a sigh of weariness, the lady-elf stood up again, putting another smile on her face. She kissed the right cheek of her youngest child with controlled force, making him laugh at last. Elrohir started to look at her with concern after that, even though he tried to disguise it.

Celebrian sighed then. She had good children, always attentive to what she felt, always willing to help her, always wanting her approval.

She had good children. And they were by her side again.

"I love you very much, _Rohir-nîn_. I have really, really missed you," she said at the ear of the youngest, before giving him another kiss on his left cheek and standing up to say good night to her oldest son.

Elladan offered his mother a tender smile, seeming to have noticed her sadness. Celebrian covered him too, repeating the same process she had done with Elrohir and waking up laughter in him as well. She then leaned in for a final kiss, and then went toward the door. When she had her hand on the doorknob she turned to the two pairs of eyes that had followed her attentively.

"He loves you both, _ionath-nîn,_" she said with teary eyes. "Do not forget that."

The children responded with shy nods.

These were hard times.


	8. The Return - Part 2

Hello. Hope you are okay.

I just wanted to thanks again everyone who is reading the story and commenting.

Hope you like this chapter as well.

Love

Sadie

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><p><strong>CHAPTER VIII<strong>** - THE RETURN (PART II)**

_Regret is an odd emotion because it comes only upon reflection. Regret lacks immediacy, and so its power seldom influences events when it could do some good.__"_

_William O'Rourke_

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><p>When Celebrian finally left the room, Elrohir immediately sat up in his bed.<p>

"_What's happening?"_ he asked his brother.

Elladan was startled again, as he always was when his brother's voice suddenly sounded in his mind. He sighed and tried to sit as well, but decided to stay as he was, after a brief attempt.

"_Why are you not recovered, Dan?" _Elrohir insisted.

Elladan looked intently into his brother's eyes, but Elrohir got no answer. After just a few seconds Elrohir noticed that the elder twin was waiting for him. He breathed deeply, trying to concentrate. He did not understand why it was so difficult to do what, to his brother, seemed as easy as reading an important book. All he had to do was just open his mind. There was nothing to fear, he knew. Elladan would not do him any harm.

When at last his twin's voice sounded in his head, he felt a slight relief and a small feeling of pleasure. He had really missed his brother.

"_I am better," _was Elladan's answer.

"_But why are you not recovered?" _

Elladan was silent, and then pressed his lips together.

"_Ada said it is because I am sad, and when we are sad it is difficult to recover, it takes longer." _

At first Elrohir's eyebrows curved downward in a frown, but after a moment he realized something important.

"_Then you see Ada?" _

"_Yes. Sure. I see him every day._ "

"_When?"_

"_Sometimes in the library_,_ where he stays most of the day. Sometimes in the back garden, when Nana can convince him to go there. He does not like going out of the house." _

"_Why_?"

"_Because people keep looking at him from afar..." _Elladan looked down._ "They do not have bad intentions... I think they just have missed him..." _

"_Is Ada not allowed to talk to anyone?" _

"_Yes, he is allowed... But Nana said he is not permitted to give advice or try to help them as a healer, so there is little for him to talk about with them, is there? I guess that's why he keeps avoiding them ... because he knows they want him to talk to them about things that he cannot speak of anymore. " _

"_They are not angry with him, are they?" _

"_Angry? Why would they be?"_

"_I do not know..."_ Elrohir shook his head, confused. _"He was dishonored... Daerada said dishonored people are socially excluded."_

"_I think it depends on what they did, Ro ..." _Elladan said with caution, and then tightened his chin when he saw what even his subtle answer had awakened in his brother's face.

"_I wonder what they must think of me ..."_ Elrohir sadly said.

"_They think nothing of us."_ Elladan was categorical. _"They are very upset about the law which condemned us. At least that is what Nana was saying the other day." _

"_What does that mean_?"

"_I am not sure... I heard her talking to Erestor and they stopped when they noticed I was there ... I tried to ask her about it, but she would not tell me ..."_

"_Don't tell me, I know! She gave you that same excuse she always gives—that we are too young to worry about these issues, etc, etc.," _complained the younger twin, who already knew their mother's speech by heart.

Elladan gave a brief sigh.

"_That was not what she said ... She only said that it was something she and Erestor should not have been discussing." _

"_What?" _Elrohir asked, not understanding.

Elladan bit his lips at the corner of his mouth. Finally he threw the covers aside and got up with a grimace of pain. Elrohir wanted to protest, but eventually followed his brother's movements, intrigued. The older twin went to the dresser and opened the top drawer, pulled out some clothes and finally took out a great book, bringing it back to his bed. Elrohir crawled out from beneath his covers and sat beside him.

Elladan sat cross-legged on the bed, supporting the book on both of their laps, and Elrohir looked closely at the volume.

_LAWS OF ELDAR _

The twin pursed his lips, rubbing his arms as if he felt cold.

"_Have you read it?" _he asked. Elladan looked back at him, his eyes narrowed, and Elrohir realized that, in his surprise and apprehension, he had unintentionally closed the communication channel again. He tried to concentrate and then the voice of his brother reappeared, a little annoyed this time.

"_You need to help me a little, Elrohir,"_ he said and sighed. He knew his brother would always guard his mind, and that Elrohir did not do it on purpose. He tried to be understanding, but sometimes it was hard.

Elrohir's shoulders relaxed as he opened his mind more fully. He knew that to communicate with Elladan right now, he would have to play by the rules, keeping that channel unlocked that allowed his brother in. There was no other way._"Have you read it?" _Elrohir repeated.

"_I have."_

"_And what have you discovered?" _

"_I have found the law that condemned us,"_ said the eldest twin, quickly flipping through the large volume.

"_Condemned us..." _Elrohir repeated unhappily, knowing that, deep inside, his brother was right. That condemnation, whose real target should have been only him, truly reached all the members of his family, like a curse. He swallowed that bitter truth, staring at the page as soon as his twin stopped his search, sliding his index finger over the text he had found.

"_Here it is. The law about fratricide..." _

Elrohir frowned.

"_What does that mean?" _he asked.

Elladan gulped.

"_It means… the act of a person who…"Elladan paused, and Elrohir wasn't sure he was going to continue._

"_Who…?"_

"_Who kills a… a brother…"_

Elrohir parted his lips and grew pale, looking his brother in the eyes.

"_Do they really think that what I have done is fratricide?" _

"_No, Ro. For that to be considered fratricide, I should have died. Nana said they could never have judged what you did as a fratricide attempt, because you did not intend to hurt me or threaten me." _

Elrohir looked down.

"_I had not... I had no intention of doing that…" _he sadly said.

"_I know..."_ Elladan agreed, placing his hand on his brother's knee. _"This is as attenuating factor ..." _

"_What is an attenuating factor?" _

"_Erestor explained it to me. He said it is a detail that makes something less serious than it appears, such as the fact that the sword accidentally slipped from your hand. This is an attenuating factor; you did not want to hurt me. The books are based on Fëanor's condemnation, but even Erestor has agreed that there is no relation in the two situations... Fëanor had threatened Fingolfin with his sword... He did it in fact... He thought his half-brother was betraying him, planning to take his power and their father's affection... Although he did not want to kill him, the book says there was malice in his act because he had believed in the intrigues he had heard, he had no doubt... He gave Fingolfin no chance to explain himself; Nana also agreed... You did not threaten me... You did not… Not at any moment ... We're brothers... There was no malice... no evil… The... The sword just slipped..." _

The anguish which tempered Elladan's final words took Elrohir's breath away. The younger twin could not stop thinking of the difficult times Elladan had faced alone while he, the real one responsible for the whole conflict, was safe, living far away from here. He looked down and noticed that Elladan's hand was just above one of the pictures in the book; a portrait of Fingolfin.

"_I did not mean it..." _he suddenly said, placing a hand over his brother's_. "I... would never do anything like what Fëanor did... You are too important to me, toron... I..." _

"_I know,"_ Elladan quickly assured, holding his brother's hand. "_And other people agreed with me... These are all attenuating facts..."_

"_But they have not helped us much ..." _

Elladan looked down, again thinking about the sad story told in the pages of the book on his lap.

"_Erestor told me that just as there are attenuating facts, there are also aggravating ones..." _

"_What are aggravating facts? _

"_Other bad things that come with the first one..." _Elladan remarked sadly_. "He said the aggravating facts were what condemned us. For example: if you had hurt me by accident in training or playing with a borrowed sword, the incident would have been less severe than the way it did happen..." _

This time Elrohir did not comment. He had nothing more to ask; quite the contrary, he understood everything better than he wanted to.

"_And the fact that I did not let you call Ada as soon as the accident happened did not help us either_..." completed the older twin, shaking his head.

"_If I had listened to you and not gone ahead with that craziness of mine, we would not be as we are now..."_ commented the younger one, after a brief period of silence beside his brother. He let out a heavy and sad sigh, and Elladan covered his shoulders with his right arm.

"_Ada is right, Ro... We all made mistakes. It was not just you_..."

"_Of course it was just me!" _

"_Of course not, Ro. I knew about the sword. I could have done something. I could have told Ada." _

"_You did not do that because you knew I would get angry." _

"_You would get angry, as I got angry when you brought Ada to help me. But if you had not done that, maybe I would not be here now. If I had had courage enough to upset you as you upset me… if I had not been afraid you would get angry with me... If I had not been afraid of losing your friendship... this entire nightmare might not have happened..."_

Elrohir let out another sigh, and then shook his head vigorously.

"_Nonsense! This is my fault; completely mine... Even though people say it is not. I know I did what I should not have. I got the sword without anyone knowing, I forged it, used it without its owner's permission, hid it from everyone... I was so reckless that I did not even think twice... I hurt you... I… might have killed you…"_ He dropped his hands on his lap. _"I should have been punished. I am not a reliable person; I should not even have the right to train to be a warrior again. I should have been punished... me… and not Ada ..._"

Elladan leaned his head on the shoulder of his brother.

"_Everyone has the right to have their own opinion about it, toron-nín, their own idea, and their own point-of-view. You have yours, I have mine, Ada has his..." _

"_What has he told you?" _

"_He said he wished he had done more... He was very sad for allowing Daerada to take you, for not having been more forceful in convincing him not to do that. I think that's why he was not at the dinner table tonight. It would have been hard for him to look at you, after letting Daerada take you away from us." _

Elrohir shook his head again, now with less force.

"_He does not want to see me again. That is why he wasn't there tonight."_

"_He loves you."_

Elrohir closed his eyes, pressing them tightly.

"_He should not…"_

Elladan ignored that last comment. He, better than anyone, knew his brother well enough to know he was just feeling emotional.

"_We all love you,"_ he finally said. "_We are happy you are back."_

Elrohir did not answer, keeping his eyes closed. He would love to believe that having his family's love would be enough to face this situation, but he was starting to realize that maybe that was the worst thing of all. Maybe it would be better if they all hated him.

Elladan raised his head from his brother's shoulder, then looked at him with inquisitive eyes. Elrohir took some time to notice it, finally lifting his eyelids and staring back at his brother.

"_What?"_ he asked.

"_Why did Daerada bring you back, Ro? Nana said he will no longer take you away, that you would stay here and would be Nana's responsibility. What did you do to convince him?"_

At first Elrohir did not respond, then a detail suddenly came to him.

"_Dan! I forgot!_" he said desperately, turning on the bed to be face to face with his brother.

"_Forgo__t what?" _

"_I have looked in Daernana's mirror." _

"_You what?"_

"_I have looked in Daernana's mirror." _

Elladan's face paled.

"_You have not. Tell me you have not done it, Ro, please!" _

"_What? I have not done what?" _

"_You have not gone there when Daernana was not looking and..." _

"_Of course I did not do that, Dan!"_ Elrohir was offended. Then he was silent, when he finally understood the reason for the question. _"You will never trust me again…" _

"_Sure I will!"_ Elladan hastened to confirm, then he grabbed his twin's hand. _"Sorry, Ro... I am just afraid... That is all. I am really sorry."_

"_You are afraid I will get myself into more confusion..." _

"_Yes... I… I am afraid you will get yourself into more trouble trying to get us out of the mess we are in..." _

Elrohir frowned with that comment.

"_What are you talking about?" _

Elladan looked away, moving his eyes to the bedroom door as if trying to hear if there was someone on the other side of it. He had been doing that since the beginning of their conversation, and Elrohir thought his brother might want a certain person to come around—just as he did.

It was sad that both his brother, who was at home all this time, and he, who'd been living far away, seemed to miss the same person. They both seemed to miss their father.

"_I had a weird dream..."_ Elrohir heard his brother say, as if he was talking to himself, letting important information escape without noticing.

"_What dream?" _

The question seemed to wake Elladan from his brief reverie. He twisted his lips then, lowering his head in annoyance.

"_I do not want to talk about it, Ro." _

"_Have you dreamed that I was in trouble again?" _

"_I do not want to talk about it, Ro... It is nonsense..._" Elladan said firmly, more seriously this time, and Elrohir felt that, whatever it was, it seemed to be a very sad memory. The older twin's eyes rose again, looking at his brother. "_You said you have looked into Daernana's mirror…" _

"_I have." _

"_Why?" _

"_Because she asked me to." _

Elladan was intrigued.

"_Ada once told me that young people like us cannot do that." _

"_I know... Daerada did not like it when he found out... But Daernana did not seem to care..." _

"_And why did she ask you to look at it?" _

"_I do not know ... She said she thought there was something wrong about what had happened to me." _

"_What do you mean?" _

"_Something about the sword." _

Elladan was more intrigued.

"_And did you see something?" _

"_Yes... I did... But I do not know exactly what it meant... But I think that is why Daerada brought me back." _

The firstborn was silent for a moment, feeling the importance of that information.

"_What did you see?" _

"_The Anglachel..."_ Elrohir said artfully, wondering if Elladan would remember what he had not—the history lesson Erestor had given them about the sword.

"_Eöl's sword? The one which was also Beleg's weapon? _

Elrohir nodded his head then, but cringed inside. He seemed to be the only one who did not remember that history. Why did Elladan always have to be so straight?

"_What about Anglachel, Ro? It was buried with Túrin Turambar, was it not? After he had reforged it. What was its name again?" _

"_Gurtang – The Iron of Death,"_ the twin reminded him, and Elladan was surprised by his brother's ability to do so. Elrohir was never very interested in legends and histories of the past.

"_What else did you see in the mirror?"_ he asked finally.

"_I saw the sword... since it left the hands of its creator and passed through the hands of all its other owners. " _

Elladan's jaw dropped.

"_Did you see him?" _

"_Who?" _

"_Beleg, the Strongbow of Doriath. Did you see him, Elrohir?" _

Elrohir frowned.

"_Yes," _he answered quietly._ "Daernana said he was someone special,"_ he added at last, and Elladan agreed with a quick nod.

"_Very special,"_ he said. _"At least that is what I think... It was because of his story I decided to learn the handling of the bow." _

"_Really?" _

"_Yes... His name means Mighty. He was the chief of the march-wardens of Doriath and a very wise and brave warrior... He fought the orcs in Brethil during the First Age, and he was also in that tragic Fifth Battle of Beleriand that Erestor told us about. Do you remember? The Nirnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears." _

Elrohir smiled. It was good to see his brother so excited about something.

"_How does it feel to use the bow?"_ he asked, and the corners of Elladan's lips rose into a smile that Elrohir did not remember seeing before.

"_It is totally different from the sword... You have time to think, observe what is happening around you... You have goals. You do not need someone to train with you. It is useful for a lot of things." _

The younger twin kept smiling, listening to the lively story of his brother.

"_Would you teach me?" _

"_Sure. But I think you will still prefer the sword. At least that is what Glorfindel said." _

"_Why?" _

"_He said you are a very impulsive person; that the sword will always be your main weapon." _

Elrohir pursed his lips. He was not impulsive! Or was he?

"_Am I an impulsive person, Dan?" _

"_Sometimes."_ Elladan smiled. "_But I think you will like the bow anyway. I won one from Glorfindel. It is much bigger than the others I have used, but he told me that I will only be allowed to train with it when I am fully recovered." _

Elrohir gave a slight sigh, recognizing the mentor's deceptive use of enticement on his brother.

"_He is a trickster..."_ he commented, smiling. _"He loves to do that with us." _

Elladan also showed a tender smile, implying that his brother's theory had also crossed his mind.

"_Yes, he is... And he always gets what he wants from us..."_ he added, thoughtful and Elrohir felt his brother's eyes were saddened for no apparent reason.

Elladan seemed weakened. The younger twin took a deep breath, feeling quite selfish. He had been away, but not only away from the good things, as he had believed, he had been away from the sadness, too. He had not seen the fruit of the things he had left behind, the seeds he had sown. He had not seen his father cloistered in his own land, he had not seen his mother being forced to take her husband's place in the organization of this city, and he had not seen so many things... He had been spared from the problems, the problems he had caused.

Elladan's eyes rose again, and when he realized he was being observed, he forced a smile.

"_I'm very happy to have you back, toron,_" he said and Elrohir smiled too.

"_How is the bow that he gave you?_" he asked, just to keep his brother talking about something that seemed to please him.

The twin's lips remained raised in that peaceful smile, that only he seemed to be able to offer, while his eyes were fixed on the image in his mind of what his brother wanted to make him remember.

"_It is a bow of yew, the same material of the Belthronding, Beleg's bow. Glorfindel brought it from the northern lands,"_ he reported in a calm tone. _"I call it Cúthalion, in honor of Beleg." _

Elrohir smiled, feeling that the simple details of his brother's experience while they were apart, was softening the weight of his heart a little.

"_Why do you think you saw the Anglachel, Elrohir?"_ Elladan asked, remembering the beginning of the story, and Elrohir was thoughtful, returning to the same question that had been on his mind since he left the port. "_I do not know... Do you know its story very well, toron_?"

"_More or less. I know it hasn't brought much luck to anyone who has ported it and..."_ Elladan was pale again. _"Do you think that it can be the same sword?"_ he asked with urgency, and the silence that came from the other twin made his skin get even paler. "_But how could it be? It was buried with Turin..."_

"_The sword with which I have hurt you had also been buried..."_ he reminded Elladan, with a slight lift of his shoulders.

"_Wait!"_ Elladan raised his hand, surprised and fearful at the same time. _"It cannot be possible, Elrohir... It… It was so long ago… So far away... Those lands are even submerged... There is only an island ... Nobody is allowed to go there... No sailor can put his feet on Tol Morwen; it is a sacred place... How could it have been put in your hands? Precisely in your hands? It cannot be ..." _

"_What do you mean, precisely in my hands?" _

"_Because you..."_ Elladan shook his head once more.

"_I what?"_

"_Let it be. I am talking nonsense." _

"_Say it, Dan. I am already in trouble. Whatever is on your mind, if you think that it can help me..." _

"_I do not think that stupid theories can help anything, Elrohir. I only know what I have read in books and what Erestor has told us... You have read and heard the same things as me." _

"_But I do not have your view of things, Dan. Come on; tell me what is on your mind." _

Elladan let out a sigh of discontentment, and then he shook his head.

"_Say it, Dan! Say it!" _

"_Eöl, Thingol, Beleg, Turin ..."_

"_What about them?" _

"_They were... different people..." _

"_What do you mean?" _

"_They were deliberate people... the kind of people who do not ..." _

"_Do not what?" _

"_Who do not listen to other people's advice, Elrohir. Who do not accept something they think is wrong, even if it is tradition... Do you remember what Erestor told us about Eöl? About Thingol? About the others? They were all the kind of people who prefer to sacrifice themselves instead of bowing before what is not their desire, even if it is the coherent thing to do, even if it is the sensate thing to do, even if it is ..." _

He did not finish, or need to; at least that was what the expression on his brother's face was saying.

"_Do you think that the sword came purposely to my hand?"_ Elrohir was confused. _"Come on! It is just a sword, Dan! You speak as if it had its own life." _

"_Weapons do not receive their own names for nothing, Ro..." _

"_They are weapons, Dan. They cannot do anything that their owners do not want to do." _

"_Did you want the sword to hurt me?" _

"_No, but that was different and..." _

The two brothers looked at each other for a moment, and Elrohir's face was getting tense, an air of doubt and dismay was on him. He suddenly stood up, walking through the room.

"_That makes no sense,"_ he said and Elladan did not answer. He knew that now his brother would be chewing these ideas that filled his mind until he was satisfied. Elrohir walked around, images dancing before his eyes that only he could see. His lips moved silently, as he recited thoughts to himself. He closed his mind again, leaving his brother the arduous task of waiting for whatever would be his next step. He then stopped abruptly and looked back to his brother. "_You know what? This should be good; imagining that a cursed weapon had enchanted me or something like that. I would be totally free of guilt as everyone else... But... I just… I cannot do that, Dan... I cannot believe it. I may not be an adult elf, but I am no longer that elfling who used to listen wide-eyed to the stories in Nana's books... I... I'm guilty, Dan... I feel so responsible for this whole incident that I think the word GUILTY should be written on my forehead. I feel so at fault for everything, I cannot help it... I... I feel very, very guilty... I... I am our family's disgrace... me and my immensurable stupidity…"_

Elladan jumped out of bed then, realizing what those words were doing to his brother. Elrohir turned and tried to pull away, but the twin hugged him anyway, forcing his arms around him.

Elrohir dropped his head and arms then, slowly turning his face away.

"_I am guilty, Dan... I am guilty ... I'm so sorry for what I did ... I am sorry for being the brother you have..." _

Elladan tried to make his brother look at him then, wanting to remake the bond that was broken, to be able to talk to him, but Elrohir wouldn't allow such a communication anymore. He continued moving his face in the opposite direction, avoiding Elladan's eyes.

"_I... I am tired, Dan... Let's sleep..." _

Elladan wanted to argue, but there was no way. Elrohir had completely closed the channel through which they communicated to each other. The younger twin went to his bed and laid down under the covers in silence. The older one still waited a moment; he sat on his own bed looking at his brother's back. Eventually he gave up and did the same as Elrohir. He knew neither he nor Elrohir would sleep that night, even as tired as they were. The only thing he could wish was that the next day would bring him more enlightening ideas. He had a lot of things to think about; this day was not all lost…


	9. Looking for the Light - Part 1

I fear that reading the first part of this chapter might be quite tiring, considering I'm still trying to establish the background of what will happen from here on. I apologize in advance if it was too detailed.

I wanted to point out that some ideas and details of the chapter were based on the article entitled _Turin __Turambar __and __Free __Will_ written by Eric Tracy, and posted on 28/01/09 at Dúvendor, a Lord of the Rings Brazilian Fans site, though I have wandered here and there in some of his theories. I would like to thank him and recommend his article to the ones who read Portuguese.

Thank you all for reading. I am very grateful to those who are following the story. Hope you like this chapter and have time to leave a comment.

Sadie

* * *

><p>Tell all the Truth but tell it slant -<br>Success in Circuit lies  
>Too bright for our infirm Delight<br>The Truth's superb surprise

As Lightning to the Children eased  
>With explanation kind<br>The Truth must dazzle gradually  
>Or every man be blind<p>

**Emily Dickinson**

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER IX – LOOKING FOR THE LIGHT – PART 1<strong>

Beside the main house there was a small staircase leading to the house of studies, one of the libraries of the city, where the older books were stored. It was among them that Erestor worked most of the time, spending hours at a dark wooden table in front of the large window. There were all sorts of volumes from different regions and eras, from those with well-finished bookbinding to modest scrolls, these last ones seemed to be more important to the counselor.

Elrohir had never understood very well the usefulness of those things, which, to him, always seemed like ancient paper that made his nose itch. Indeed, that was a mystery without any explanation: His nose seemed to hate everything that, to his brother, was very important and even fun. Elladan ran those shelves back and forth without even a sneeze, while he had to hold his breath every time he had to get any book his mentor had requested.

Libraries... Once he thought them amusing, but that was long ago.

However now something he had never imagined until today was happening: He was climbing, willingly, those stairs, with some good memories of his childhood coloring his mind. It was good to have a pleasant picture on which to find support, especially when everything seemed dark and dull.

Elrohir pushed the door open slowly. It was still very early, so he knew he would not find anyone in the house of studies, not even Erestor, who used to reserve his mornings for reading in his room or in the garden. The place was empty as expected. The daylight was already filtering into the windows, adding tones of light to the walls, but not hitting the books, which were wisely kept away from anything that could be harmful to them. The twin took a few steps through the shelves, not really sure what he had come for. He was barely able to sleep last night and, during the few moments he could, he felt his heart be taken by the same image again and again…

Nobody had spoken about it since he had arrived...

Nobody had asked him where he had hidden it…

Nobody sought to know about it… about that sword…

Why?

That was one of many questions that had invaded his mind, stealing his few moments of peace. He was not sure any answer would be found here, in these old books, whose backbones he slid his fingers over slowly, his eyes taking in letters of all sizes and kinds; some were brilliant, some were almost erased by time. He stopped at one of those spines then, recognizing the perfect handwriting on the last book.

Being a scribe was also an art, an art that his father dominated very well…

Elrohir sighed, moving his fingertips slowly over the words Elrond had written on that well-crafted cover. However, when he pulled the book, wishing just to have something in his hands by someone he was missing so much, he realized that, what he had taken from the shelf, was not a mere copy or work of reconstruction, like his father used to do in his free time. It was a collection with no authorship on the cover, which indicated they were, in fact, texts written by the healer himself.

_OLD __TALES __- __A __collection __of __reflections __about __History,_ the gold letters said…

Elrohir opened the book, carefully reading the manuscript summary, savoring the good feeling of having his father's texts and ideas in his hands. Only at the bottom of the page there was a signature; his father's. The Lord of Imladris had always been concerned with the preservation of culture and history of both the Eldar and the Edain people. He feared that time would steal or misrepresent the view of facts they had lived and known, so he spent many of his days negotiating books and other documents, and rewriting the old ones the hands of time seemed to have reached before they could be rescued.

Elrond loved books.

Elrohir sighed, feeling guilty about needing to have a terrible experience in order to understand and react with such affection to one of his father's great loves. He ran his eyes through the book summary carefully until he read a title that made his heart beat faster:

_The fate of Túrin Turambar: curse, predestination or free will?_

At first Elrohir was astonished at the coincidence. He crouched slowly, his eyes still focused on those handwritten lines, until he sat down on the floor where he was. He was favored by the lack of interest of other elves in this place, so he could relax and allow himself to just stay on that cold floor. He joined letters and ideas of an article written many years ago, trying to understand what was so important about Túrin's life to move Elrond to spend his time reflecting about the adan warrior's destiny. However, Elrohir was even more astonished when he realized his father, in his manuscript, was treating Túrin Turambar as one of his ancestors.

_Elbereth_. That was totally true, Elrohir thought, looking at the drawing of his own family tree Elrond had sketched to introduce the character he was talking about. Somehow Elrond and the adan warrior were part of the same family. Túrin Turambar was the son of Húrin Thálion, a hero of Men during the First Age, and the greatest warrior of both the Edain and all the other Men in Middle-earth. Húrin was the older brother of Huor, who was the father of Tuor Eladar. Tuor had a son called Eärendil… Eärendil… was his father's father… His grandfather...

So Túrin Turambar and his father were like distant cousins, in a way...

Elrohir paused for a minute, thinking about that surprising information. He swallowed some strange feelings as he looked again at his family tree, feeling sad about it. Huor was dead, but his family tree was still growing; Elladan and he were the newest branches of it. But Húrin's tree had no more branches or leaves… all his three children had died and, beyond them, was Túrin Turambar.

Elrohir moved his eyes away from the paper for a moment, not helping trying not to remember the horrible scene he saw in his grandmother's mirror. During his trip back home he had followed Galadriel's advice and read the sad story of the Children of Húrin. _Narn __I __Chin __Húrin__…_ He had seen that book thousands of times, but never thought about reading it. However, after seeing what he saw, the young elf put aside the fact that he didn't like reading that much and spent his time getting to know the sad story of Húrin and his cursed family.

And there were lots of things he didn't know. He got to know Húrin Thálion and his important role in the Nírnaeth Arnoediad, the Battle of Unnumbered Tears, where he and his brother Huor took a stand fighting off the Orcs, allowing Turgon to escape. Turgon was a good friend to him, that's why Húrin was brought captive to _Angband_ instead of just being murdered. And that's why Morgoth decided to torture him implacably. The evil creature wanted to retrieve knowledge of Turgon's hidden kingdom from Húrin, torturing and tormenting him.

But Húrin was strong and loyal, so he resisted. When Morgoth was convinced he would not get the information he needed employing those evil tools, he cursed Húrin along with his kin. He took Húrin to _Haudh-en-Ndengin_ and placed him high on the peaks of _Thangorodrim_, immobilized in a seat.

There, through the power of Morgoth, Húrin could see and hear all the evils that later occurred to his son Túrin and daughter Nienor, who was born while he was a captive. The most horrible thing to Húrin was learning how his children felt, while both were under the influence of Glaurung, a very powerful dragon.

Elrohir closed his eyes after remembering the last scene he had read in that book. Only then he could understand what had moved Túrin to take the desperate action he saw in his grandmother's mirror. He hadn't remembered feeling as sorry about anyone's destiny as he felt for Húrin and his family, especially for Túrin, who was at the center of something he could never understand.

Curse… That was the word repeated on those book pages. Húrin was cursed, as was his family, as was his son. Curse… he just couldn't believe it. He just couldn't believe someone or something could be cursed; people, swords, places… that idea just didn't make sense to him…

Maybe his father had the same feeling, Elrohir thought, as he looked back to Elrond's book. His father had talked about free will on those pages, and in his theory, he avoided associating the curse Húrin had received at the hands of Morgoth to the destiny Túrin, his son, faced.

Elrohir frowned, carefully reading his father's ideas and thinking about the expression Elrond was using – Free Will… What was he talking about?

_The use of Free Will is a theme that reveals to the careful reader that the choices have extreme consequences, and the reasons behind these effects determine the outcome - for better or for worse. The good reason for it is the self-sacrifice, and the most devastating one is pride and the desire to possess. We can observe the use of Free Choice in Middle-earth and see it exercised by Elves and Men. However, the use of Free Will is qualitatively different for the Sons of Middle-earth. As described in Quenta Silmarillion, Ilúvatar gave a special gift to the Atani (Men), which was:_

"_[...] the hearts of Men should seek beyond the world and should find no rest therein; but they should have a virtue to shape their life, amid the powers and chances of the world, beyond the Music of the Ainur, which is as fate to all things else; and of their operation everything should be, in form and deed, completed, and the world fulfilled unto the last and smallest." (The Silmarillion)_

Intrigued, the twin moved his eyes away from the page to think about that. Was it true? Had the Edain such privilege? Could they, and only they, be able to choose their destiny, while the Eldar people would have their destinies attached to the Music of the Ainur?

But… Was it really a privilege?

He tilted his head thoughtfully, looking at his father's lines again. That was when another detail came to his mind.

He was not an Elf... not yet...

But he was not an Adan either... not yet...

He knew that one day he would have to make that choice, but he had not yet bothered with it because there was time...

In fact there was still time...

Elrohir shook his head, trying to rearrange those pieces of information before reviewing them. If those ideas were true, then the fate of elves would be like a line outside of which no steps could be taken. The end of this line would be already predestined. So, being an elf meant to live under those influences and learn, or vainly try to fight for the right of choosing his or her own path, until he finally stopped resisting and accepted the need to perform the necessary role of History; accept to fulfill his or her destiny.

The Edain people, in their turn, would have the right to live their own lives without any influence, just subjecting themselves to the elements of the world and seeking to survive. So, performing, or not, a role in History would be just a matter of choice to them.

The twin shook his head again, realizing those ideas were too complicated for his understanding now. Anyway, that theory would invalidate the other ones, which attributed Túrin's tragic fate to Morgoth's curse, which fell on his father's family. Elrond had then expounded on his theories, saying that if Túrin, as an adan, had such power of decision, all his missteps would have been the fruits of his own recklessness, exacerbated by his pride, his arrogance, his desire for revenge.

Consequently, there was no curse... Not for an adan warrior…

But…What Morgoth said, when he extended his arm toward Dor-lómin and cursed Húrin's wife Morwen and their offspring, including his son Túrin, were just words without effect? That couldn't be true. The young elf rubbed his face, uncomfortable with that hypothesis. After all, Húrin's family had succumbed... One by one... Even the innocent baby who Nienor, sister of Túrin, was carrying when she dove to her death in the river Teiglin...

Elrohir felt a shiver run down his spine, which made him scrub both arms to keep that sinister feeling away.

But what if his father's hypothesis wasn't true, and there was an effective curse? What if you could really be cursed by words for making wrong decisions? And if that were true, then could it also be true that there were powerful curses flying around using all kinds of subterfuges as tools? So could that mean a special curse could be centered on a unique object?

An ordinary object such as... a sword?

Elrohir covered his face, rubbing it now. He moved his fingers slightly, looking through them to the lines his father had written.

Which would be worse?

Knowing that you are cursed or doomed and being resigned to that fact... Or accept that everything, good or bad, that happens to you and around you is due to your own will, your free will...

Which would be better?

Elrohir took a deep breath, feeling that such an attitude did not calm his restless heart. If there were actually two destinies, the Eldar one and the Edain one, which one would be his, as he hadn't already decided which way to go? He hadn't yet made the decision about whether to be an elf or a man.

Elrohir gasped, those two hypotheses weren't good at all. He could be the next arrogant and intransigent warrior who the sword had chosen to condemn, or the one who just kept the same impulsive traits of some of his ancestors and was paying a price as high as Húrin and Túrin had paid…

The young elf cringed then, realizing he had abandoned his father's theories to look for his own, so he decided to finish reading the healer's article.

Elrond actually was looking for a different interpretation to the idea of free will in his text, giving both men and elves the same right. The Music could dictate the fates for some, but it was up to individuals, singly or in groups, to make them true or not. They were not mere tools in skilled hands, they were important pieces that may or may not be part of the History, helping the gears of the world to spin easier or not. Everyone, man or elf, could receive some kind of help for doing that, everyone could be guided by words, visions, events. However, at the end of all, what would indeed be important would be their own decisions, and what had moved each one to decide to help or not.

Elrohir pressed his lips together, understanding his father's opinion better than he would like to. Free Will was like a double-edged sword. Carefully reviewing the History facts he had read, he saw that different choices were offered to everyone, at all times, but each one, individually, had the right to make the final decision.

There was always a different path, a different choice…

However one single decision could affect other people… so the feelings that move that decision should be very well analyzed before making it.

Elrohir closed his eyes, seeing himself painfully mirrored in Túrin's thoughtless attitudes. Though Morgoth had used his tools, the young adan more than once made use of his right to choose impulsively, moved by his own pride and anger to choose by himself to follow the way in which Morgoth wanted to lead him. Túrin hardly offered compassion, ignored the idea of remorse and he loathed the terms 'give up' or 'turn back'. These characteristics had made him undeniably a feared and brave warrior, but also sealed his fate with the darkest ink.

Free will, sacrifice, love, forgiveness, searching, choices...

Pride, hatred, seduction, cruelty, destruction, curse...

There were too many words. There were too many questions. There were too many answers. How to combine the right ones, Elrohir asked himself, standing up forcefully on one knee to put his father's book back on the shelf. When he did that, he noticed another book on the same shelf: A book that he now knew very well.

_Narn __I __Chin __Húrin__-_The Children of Húrin

Elrohir shuddered but tried to quiet his heart. He took the book anyway, and soon he was back on the floor. He opened the book to a random page, and the first paragraph he read was one which contained one of the saddest scenes of that history.

_When all in the camp were sleeping Beleg took up his bow and in the darkness shot four of the wolf sentinels on the south side, one by one and silently. Then in great peril they entered in, and they found Túrin fettered hand and foot and tied to a tree. All about knives that had been cast at him by his tormentors were embedded in the trunk, but he was not hurt; and he was senseless in a drugged stupor or swooned in a sleep of utter weariness. Then Beleg and Gwindor cut the bonds from the tree, and bore Túrin out of the camp. But he was too heavy to carry far, and they could go no further than to a thicket of thorn trees high on the slopes above the camp. There they laid him down; and now the storm drew nearer, and lightning flashed on Thangorodrim. Beleg drew his sword Anglachel, and with it he cut the fetters that bound Túrin; but fate was that day more strong, for the blade of Eöl the Dark Elf slipped in his hand, and pricked Túrin's foot. Then Túrin was roused into a sudden wakefulness of rage and fear, and seeing a form bending over him in the gloom with a naked blade in hand he leapt up with a great cry, believing that Orcs were come again to torment him; and grappling with him in the darkness he seized Anglachel, and slew Beleg Cúthalion thinking him a foe._

_But as he stood, finding himself free, and ready to sell his life dearly against imagined foes, there came a great flash of lightning above them, and in its light he looked down on Beleg's face. Then Túrin stood stone still and silent, staring on that dreadful death, knowing what he had done; and so terrible was his face, lit by the lightning that flickered all about them, that Gwindor cowered down upon the ground and dared not raise his eyes. _

Elrohir closed his eyes tightly now as if he had been struck.

For a few moments he had managed to forget it...

Now it came back to haunt him. The image of that sword, the forbidden sword. It was still in his heart, like it was begging for one more moment in his hand. _Elbereth_, it was the most beautiful weapon he had ever seen. More beautiful than any other, even Glorfindel's. How could he still love it so? Could it be because the sword had regained life through his strength, his commitment, and that made him desire to hold it, to make it his?

No, Elrohir! No! he heard a voice inside him shout. Beleg was a worthy and fair warrior, and with the sword in his hand the archer never committed any injustice, but it seems that just porting it had sealed his cruel fate.

The twin shook his head again and covered his face in extreme agony. Cursed was the moment he put his hands on something that did not belong to him. Cursed was the fate he had sealed to himself, and he would find no words in these books that would help him avoid it..

No... He couldn't be feeling like he was connected to it. He couldn't feel tied to that… curse…

"The truth you see in the books is bound to the interpretation we give to it," he heard a voice say, and he moved his head toward it. Even knowing who it belonged to, his heart was afraid to believe.

Standing in the hall was a dark figure he knew well. Elrohir shuddered, closing the book and rising slowly. The image did not move. The young elf took a few steps, his heart filled with a mixture of fear and excitement.

He hadn't seen him since he arrived... He was allowed to talk to him, wasn't he? Was he allowed to touch him? And if he was, would the other one wish the same?

The newcomer was now a few feet from him, his face slowly emerging from the darkness, becoming clear in the light. There was the same serene look on his face, although he seemed a bit melancholic. Elrohir stopped two steps away and winced, he wanted to continue onward, but he couldn't... He wanted to hug him... He wanted... He wanted to be forgiven.

"_Ada_..." he mentally said, just to try the word that he could not say. But as if he had heard, his father's figure moved ahead, making the young elf tremble again with apprehension. But the healer did not move away, as his son had feared; he approached slowly, as silent as the breeze, and Elrohir felt his heart beating in his throat when he realized his father was staring at him.

There was consternation in his eyes... There was that same worry he knew too well and that, for the first time, he felt a great relief to see there on his father's face.

He cared... His father still cared...

Elrond bowed slightly and put his hand over his son's chest, cautious. However, he did not employ any pressure, as if it was a delicate act, a nearly forbidden one.

"Take all the pain and sorrow away from your heart, my child," he said in a low voice now, almost a whisper. "Let what is good fill you now. This is your way back. You're doing well... Keep going."

Elrohir parted his lips to reply, but he still could not allow the words to break his vow, even in this moment. Tears threatened to roll from his eyes, but he controlled himself. He had already embarrassed his father; he would not cry in front of him now, not in a moment like this, not with what he had put his father through. He closed his eyes and bit the corner of his lip to try to send another distraction to his brain, something that might help him contain the almost uncontrollable desire to jump into the arms he had before him.

A hand raised his chin, pulling his face upward, and then he moved his eyes to meet his father's. Elrond pulled him slowly toward him, showing him the care someone might use when he packs a fragile piece of porcelain. Elrohir thought he was dreaming, so he closed his eyes and let that dream grow wings, as he felt his father caressing his back gently, rescuing him from his uncertainties as he always knew how to do, helping him to feel the way he longed to feel: forgiven... and protected again, like a bird in its nest.

When he finally backed reluctantly out of his father's arms, he knew as he had never known before, how real what had happened was, and what he had made his family go through. However, something in his heart had changed, moved by the certainty he saw in his father's gaze: despite everything he had done, his family still loved him and loved him very much.

Elrond seemed to realize that, so he kissed his child's forehead, giving him an affectionate slap on his left cheek and walked away without saying anything more.

Elrohir noted that quick exit strategy with sadness. He knew what his father wanted to hide now. There was much pain in Arda, and healers had little space for their own.

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><p>Erestor entered the library when the sun was already reaching the top of a sky that already seemed not as blue as it had been the previous day. He walked slowly; his mind was distracted by a book in his hands, so it took some time for him to notice the young elf who was sitting on the cold floor in the aisle.<p>

"Elladan?" He was surprised to see the boy sitting there without any book in hand. But when he looked at him, the counselor soon realized his mistake, as improbable as it seemed. "Elrohir? Is that you? "

The twin did not respond; he just lowered his head again. Erestor walked a little closer, squatting in front of his pupil.

"Elrohir?" He still looked for a final confirmation, and when the twin moved a dark look toward him, the mentor received his answer. "You cannot blame me, boy," he defended himself in his warm tone and subtle smile. "You and your brother are identical and your figure is not who I usually see here," he completed, carefully placing his hand on the child's shoulder. "Although I must admit how pleased I am to see you. I have missed your complaints."

That comment lifted the corners of the lips of the twin, whose eyes had turned downward to gaze at the floor beneath him. He let himself silently smile, feeling an unexpected pleasure in not being alone anymore. Erestor was the soul of this place, which just seemed lifeless when the counselor was absent. The young elf felt the mentor's hand tighten on his shoulder, and raised his eyes to meet a more worried look now.

"Why are you here, boy? Are you hiding from someone?"

Elrohir looked at him once more, then shook his head.

"Were you looking for a book then?" tried the mentor. Although he judged he already knew the answer to that particular question, an unexpected positive nod made him wonder. "Is that a fact? Have you found what you sought?

Elrohir did not answer immediately, but then he pulled out a volume he had wedged behind himself. Erestor squinted to read the title, then suddenly inhaled, a bit disturbed.

"I think your brother has an identical one in your room. Isn't it true? He asked me for a volume of the _Laws __of __the __Eldar,_ and the book has not yet returned to my shelves. Did you intend to take this too? I don't have many copies."

This time the twin did not respond, he just stared thoughtfully at the letters on the cover.

Erestor waited a moment, and then sighed.

"Did it at least have the information you were looking for? Or do you still have any some doubt?"

Elrohir's fingers tightened slightly on the old book he held, and it intrigued the counselor.

"You look anguished, boy," he noted, caressing the young elf's shoulder carefully. "Maybe this is not a proper reading for you at this time. I do not think anything in these pages can ease your pain."

But Elrohir did not answer again, and Erestor was not surprised by that. They had made a pact, the twins… But Elrohir's silence aroused in Erestor an uneasy feeling that he could not define. He knew his pupil; he knew Elrohir and his outbursts; his outbursts and his thoughtless actions. What could be behind those dark and anxious eyes?

" I see you still fulfill the vow of silence you made with your brother," he noted now, just to try to get a different reaction from that young face. "Don't you believe you have already been silent enough? Now that you are back together again both of you should start to communicate with others fully. This barrier complicates your learning."

Elrohir did not react; his eyes seemed distant, as if a series of thoughts were flooding his head. A series of thoughts Erestor didn't know, and that fact bothered him tremendously. He waited a few seconds, then stood and offered his hand to his pupil.

"Come here, Elrohir. I'll show you how your brother and I overcame this barrier during these past few months."

The twin hesitated, and then accepted the proposal, taking the mentor's hand and accompanying him to the huge study table. The counselor made him sit in his usual chair, as he took his own, then handed him a small blackboard and a piece of limestone. The board was a plate of slate, not too thick; the size of it was enough for a few words.

"Come on," Erestor smiled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his hands over his lap. "What are we going to talk about?"

At first Elrohir didn't move. He looked at the board, at the little chalk in his hand and then at his master. Finally he let out a sad sigh and started to scratch a few words on the slate's dark surface. Erestor waited, disguising his anxiety as well as he could. Soon the young elf raised the board for his teacher to read.

"_What if my father had not done it?"_

Erestor was surprised by the question. It was very ambiguous, but he knew exactly what Elrohir meant. He parted his lips, hesitating a moment, until he found what he thought would be the right words:

"You know what would have happened, boy. Your grandfather told you at the time."

Elrohir carefully analyzed the answer. Then his eyes danced for a while, before he took a cloth in front of him and erased what he had written to write something else.

"_Then they can punish me? Even if I am not an adult yet?"_

Erestor pursed his lips thoughtfully, feeling the bitter taste of the most obvious conclusion he could come to. Elrohir had read enough and these questions he was asking were just a formality, a formality which turned them into very dangerous ones.

"Your father will not allow it. You know. So he did what he did, Elrohir."

This time Elrohir did not even look at his mentor. As he listened to the end of the explanation he had already begun quickly erasing the words he had written before.

"_And if I do not want that?"_

"Do not want what, boy?"

"_...__him __to __help __me.__"_ Elrohir completed.

Erestor pondered that question. Despite not fully understanding what the young elf was getting at, he felt like he was falling into a trap, so he had to consider well the words he would say. He was a teacher, and as such he knew he could not miss the truth.

"You want to know if you can take the blame for yourself and free your father from the Council verdict." Erestor had translated the twin's intentions, as only he could do. Elrohir paled with the absolute sincerity and objectivity of his master. Something that both he and Elladan always liked in the counselor was that. He treated them like adults, talked with them as equals, invading forbidden topics, discussing any issue that arose, using complete sincerity. Elrohir took a deep breath, and then nodded his head.

Erestor was silent again; his eyes gazed at his pupil's face attentively in search of the dangers of that response. Finally he let the air escape from his lungs in a forced sigh and answered:

"You can do it before the city council, the same one which condemned your father. You are not old enough for certain responsibilities, but childhood is behind you and the council knows it. Although you were reckless, your courage and initiative in dealing with that weapon, turning it into a new instrument again, has earned you an early maturity that has impressed many," Erestor almost regretted his resolve when it came to truth, knowing the risk he took and the problems his answer could cause in this situation. Now he would have to attentively follow the boy's next questions. He knew how to interact with this young elf. Emphatic negatives were never a barrier to stubborn Elrohir. He had to convince him in another way.

The twin then turned pale again and his eyes grew darkly serious. However, to his mentor's surprise, he did not ask any more questions. On the contrary, the young elf stood up and would have gone if he had not been held by the arm.

"Elrohir. You know you cannot do it."

The young elf lifted his chin as if asking why.

"You cannot ignore what your father did for you, pursuing something from which he has been protecting you all these months."

Elrohir angrily pulled his arm away. He picked up the board again, scribbling on it quickly.

"_I want to free him."_

"He does not want to be free that way, boy! The freedom would only have some value if you could all enjoy it with him. If you do what you are considering, you will only increase his suffering. They will send you to distant lands and…" Erestor stopped his explanation when he realized that the young elf's attention had been diverted to erase with his hand what he had written, and re-launch words on the blackboard.

"_Do I have to go where they want?"_

Erestor parted his lips to reply, but frowned.

"You are not going anywhere, Elrohir. Do you want to break your family's hearts?"

Elrohir snorted, shaking the board in his hands to emphasize the question and Erestor's face twisted in equal indignation.

"You cannot live in any elven kingdom. Where will you go? You cannot go north either, because the Edain people there are like distant relatives of yours as well."

Elrohir shrugged, then threw the board onto the table and moved away.

"You do not learn a lesson even if it costs the happiness of your whole family, do you, Elrohir?" Erestor said then, and his words were so loud and unexpected that the young elf not only stopped in his path, but also had to take hold of the chair beside him to steady himself. "You cannot escape. If you do that, the pain does not cease to exist here. Quite the contrary. It will be intensified. Don't you see how your brother is with your mere absence? How do you think he'll feel when he knows you're gone forever and to a land without any security? He will surely prefer that you had pierced him through with that re-forged sword; it would have been more gracious on your part."

Elrohir turned quickly, his eyes so angry that Erestor felt that the young elf might come over and hit him. The counselor stood up, and cautiously approached his pupil.

"Be decent, Elrohir. It's what your family expects from you. It's what we all expect. Accept your fate, accept the pain of your relatives and learn your lesson. If you do that, then at least this whole nightmare will have had some purpose."


	10. Looking for the Light - Part 2

Hi, hope you are alright. Here's the next one.

Love

Sadie

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><p><em>I will look like those ones who failed, and only I will know if the failure was necessary.<em>

Clarice Lispector (a Brazilian/Ukrainian writer)

**CHAPTER X – LOOKING FOR THE LIGHT – PART 2**

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><p>"That's what you told him?" Glorfindel asked, incredulous.<p>

"And what did you expect me to tell him?" the adviser said, defending himself. He sat on his chair behind the big massive desk. "Have you forgotten what Elrohir is capable of? Do I need to remind you? His invaluable virtues are liable to turn themselves into the most dangerous weaknesses. I do not doubt he was intending to do what he alluded to in his written words."

"And was that a good reason to remind the poor boy of how many problems he has already caused? What do you have inside your chest for a heart?" Glorfindel said dryly. That's why I didn't see him the rest of the afternoon."

Erestor rolled his eyes.

"At least I succeeded. He will not have the heart to do what he was contemplating. Anyway, talking about severity, I don't think I said anything more insensitive than you say to them in your training camp. I doubt you would have done differently in my place." Erestor felt the need to defend himself again, but his heart wasn't really in it. He was not ready for that discussion.

Glorfindel thought about objecting, but his response was delayed by the sound of footsteps on the stairs. He and Erestor were in the library waiting for a third member to come to the meeting. The expected figure appeared at the door then, stopped and waited under the doorframe.

"Come in, Elrond. Please," Erestor said in invitation, but the healer stayed where he was.

"I have to remind you that I cannot attend any meetings indoors," he said patiently. "What do you want of me, _mellyn-nîn_?"

Glorfindel clicked his tongue impatiently. Silly laws. How could the counsel have applied it this way, without any adjustment?

"It is already evening, Elrond," he said pointedly, very unhappy. "Regardless of where we are, we will attract comment any way."

The healer looked down, but did not move. After a mere moment of silence he simply placed his hand on the doorframe, leaning on it, and stayed there without taking one more step. The two friends looked at each other from their seats and exchanged resigned expressions. They knew Elrond well enough to know that he would not violate any rules, no matter how silly they were.

"Elrohir was here," Erestor said to raise the subject, realizing how touchy this conversation could be.

"I met him during my morning visit," Elrond replied, thinking that his friend was merely making a straightforward comment to initiate the conversation. However, realizing the other two elves were looking at each other worriedly made him feel that there Erestor's comment was more serious that what might be said in casual discussion.

"Has he done something wrong?"

"He was here looking at some books," Erestor said.

"Yes. That's what I saw him doing."

"You know that your child does not read anything unless it is required," the adviser said in a hesitant tone, obviously reluctant to go on. Elrond's eyebrows drew together menacingly, in the way that was so characteristic of him.

"Tell me what's going on, Erestor," he directed then. "Elrohir no sooner arrived home and he is already populating your concerns, _mellon-nîn_?"

"Not only mine," hit back the adviser, looking at his friend with serenity. "You know your child. We all know why Celeborn took him from here."

Elrond's gaze turned downward to slide across the darkened tiles on the floor before him.

"He will fail to comply with the situation, especially knowing what has happened to you, Elrond. Let's talk to the council again."

The healer's head fell back, as one who hears a story for the umpteenth time, and then he rubbed his right temple with his forefinger.

"Talk to the council about what?" he asked in so low a tone that he seemed to be asking the question to himself. "How many meetings have there been since the incident?"

Erestor and Glorfindel looked at each other. Such meetings were indeed more frequent and frivolous than any of them wanted. Sometimes two of them or even Celebrian had set up to discuss the situation with the council to seek a solution to the impasse in which they found themselves.

"They are bound by laws." Elrond turned to the horizon behind him, and his eyes got lost looking at the few stars which had appeared at the end of the afternoon. "We cannot blame them, and we will only be able to have some peace, at least, when we try to follow the paths that we've been given."

Another sound of total disapproval filled the air, followed Glorfindel, getting up and pushing back his chair.

"This time it will be different. We have Celeborn's theory about the sword."

Elrond sighed briefly, standing back a little now, still under the doorframe. He looked like a statue crowned by moonlight. His shoulders were stiff and he seemed to look toward an unattainable horizon.

"They will give you credit," Erestor insisted. "You are the creator of all that we have here. They are just waiting for a credible story, the one which they can really support. They want to be convinced. They are as unhappy as we are."

Elrond bowed his head, shaking it gently.

"I'm not the creator of anything," he said. "I will not be in any position of privilege. I will learn how to live this way, as I have learnt how to face other obstacles in the past." He raised his face, and then stood straighter, turning quickly toward the two elves who were inside the room. "I have to go now."

"We can get evidence instead of favors," Glorfindel proposed then, before Elrond took the first step. "I will take the path to old _Dor-Lomin_, to the submerged land, until I get to _Tol Morwen_, and there I will get the information."

"What information, Glorfindel?" Elrond turned slowly, but his eyes were dark with the emotion of the conversation.

"You know what."

Elrond was silent for a moment; he looked at both his friends before turning to the blond warrior.

"_Mellon-nîn_," he said in a still patient tone. "Are you listening to what you are saying? To get such information, or rather the only information we are really interested in, you would have to do more than stand in a place so sacred that even Ulmo decided to sanctify it. You would have to do more than reach the tomb of Túrin Turambar. You would have to violate it."

"It would be for a good cause."

"It is forbidden."

"It's for a good cause, Elrond." Glorfindel reinforced the tone of his voice. "If the sword is buried along with the dead hero's body, we will have to abandon our theory, but if not, it will be the proof we need."

"Elrohir also believed that what he had done was for a good cause, Glorfindel. The laws were not meant to be discussed, but obeyed."

Glorfindel snorted in clear disagreement.

"I will not allow you to judge me as you would a foolish child, Elrond."

"There's folly in what you say." Elrond was not fazed.

"Folly in trying to prove your son's innocence?"

Elrond's chest rose as he inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes briefly. Glorfindel approached him then.

"You know I'm thankful for your good intention, _mellon,"_ said the healer, still with closed eyes. After he re-opened them, he offered a worried look to his blond friend. "However, it is unwise to sow this kind of hope, based on risks and other misdemeanors."

Glorfindel showed his discontent again.

"So what would make sense, Elrond? Let your family and friends watch the silly sacrifice you are making?" he asked, his tone scathing. "All I see is misery and more misery to be sown. What are you really profiting from such barbarity, if your family is incapable of a sincere smile since all this started?"

Elrond turned pale and Glorfindel regretted his absolute frankness immediately. He parted his lips trying to find other words less harsh than those ones he had said, but was restrained by the healer's raised palm. Elrond looked into his eyes, then put his hand over his friend's heart in a sign totally contrary to what Glorfindel thought he wanted to express. The healer tapped his friend's chest twice, but his fleeting stare had a less conciliatory message. Finally he nodded briefly in farewell and left.

And that night was gone as the day that followed it, without anyone involved in these sad events able to forget the words that were said. Another day brought an implacable dawn, filling the sky with heavier clouds. The new evening fell dark before its regular time, and the blond warrior and his advisor friend were reunited again in the same library.

"Shouldn't you be at the training camp?" Erestor asked intrigued, watching the blond elf throw himself into the chair next to the table. "Were you discouraged by the dark clouds?"

Glorfindel shrugged, ignoring the provocation.

"There is not much to do. The small ones have already gone. Elrohir was the last one to leave."

"How is he?"

"Silent."

Erestor gave a bitter laugh. "Tell me something I do not know."

"Silence of fact. Impenetrable."

"What do you mean?"

"He barely looked at me. He spent the day repeating the same maneuvers over and over again. In fact, he seemed not to want me around, because he attended all my instructions without blinking and did not even react when I tried to push him."

"Well, I think you'll agree; the training he had at the shores at least seems to have given him some discipline."

"I suppose so…" Glorfindel looked out the window, thoughtful. Actually the clouds seemed too dark this evening. "I must admit that he is unrecognizable with sword in hand, quite concentrated, but far less audacious than before. He still won all the small clashes with opponents, including a laborious fight with Beinion, older than him, and one of the best of mine. What did they do to him there?"

"Caution is a good learning experience."

"I suppose so..." agreed the other elf again, without much enthusiasm.

"Well, at least his mind is occupied with something better than the insane ideas he was spouting yesterday."

That memory made Glorfindel rub his face with both hands. He had not seen Elrond again since the day before; he must seek him out soon. They had never quarreled, not even in worse situations, so he knew the curator would not be really hurt about the sincere comments he had heard, but he felt he owed his friend an apology.

"What about Elladan?" Erestor's voice woke him from the reverie he had lost himself in.

"I met him in the morning; after that I didn't see him anymore. Idhrenniel did not allow him to attend sword training, and he didn't want to practice the bow today."

"Did he not even go to see his twin's practicing?"

"No. Maybe he is a little upset at not being able to train, now that Elrohir is back to the field."

"Maybe ... What did he do all day?"

"He gave me the impression that he would be here or with Lady Idhrenniel."

"He was not here. Could he have finally accepted the lady healer's proposal to study with her as he cannot do with his father?"

Glorfindel let his head fall to the side, considering what Erestor had said. That scenario would be hard to believe. However, after what he had seen in the training camp today, after watching the always reticent and irritated younger twin behaving with caution and attention he never had before, he might believe any strange reaction these two brothers would have.

"All we can do is keep an eye on them. That costs nothing."

Celebrian also spent the day intrigued, and became even more intrigued when she entered the twins' bedroom and, for the second night in a row, found her eldest son alone.

"Has your brother not come to sleep yet, _El-nîn_?"

Elladan, who was already lying on his bed, merely shook his head negatively. He seemed as distant and saddened as he had been the day before; however, when he saw Lady Idhrenniel coming along with his mother he started to look worried.

"Have you quarreled?" Celebrian asked, sitting next to her son, not noticing his sudden pallor. "He was not at the table at lunch or dinner..."

The twin shook his head and his mother frowned, looking concerned at the youngest son's empty bed. Yesterday she was not able to wish him good night, because when she returned to the room, both were asleep, completely wrapped in their blankets.

"Did you take the food to him in the training camp as you promised me?" she asked, still thoughtful. She then looked back at her oldest son, whose face was down when he replied with a brief positive nod. "Why did he not want to be at the table with us for any meals, _ion-nîn_? Do you know?"

Elladan pressed his lips together and his shoulders stiffened. His reaction surprised his mother a bit, but then Celebrian thought she might have thought of the answer to her question herself.

"He doesn't want to be at the table without your father, does he?" she asked, and the rapid consent of the child this time seemed like an oddly unconvincing answer. The Elf-lady looked back with confusion at her youngest son bed. Something was troubling her and she was not able to figure out what it was.

Celebrian moved her eyes around the room a few times, as if searching for something that would give her a clue. Finally she took a deep breath, turning back to her firstborn. Only then she noticed something that had eluded her until then.

"You look tired, _ion-nîn_," she said, running her fingers across her child's cheek. "Glorfindel told me you did not want to train with his bow today. How did you spend your day?"

This time Elladan shrugged, not even looking at his mother, implying that he had not devoted his time to anything important. Celebrian stared at him one more time, and then she suddenly became aware of her rudeness, as she remembered the presence of Idhrenniel in the room. The Elf-healer waited in polite silence.

"Excuse me, Idhrenniel." Celebrian smiled, embarrassed, and she started undoing the ties of her son's tunic. To her surprise, however, her firstborn reacted in a way that he had not done recently. He wrapped his arms around his body instinctively, preventing her from continuing what she had come to do.

"Oh, _ion-nîn_," objected the Elf-lady, now impatient, as she tried in vain to continue her work. "No tricks, all right? We have already overcome this attitude of yours, haven't we? You know Idhrenniel is here today just as a precaution, and she has waited longer than necessary, especially since your injury no longer requires medication." She was surprised to see that this time, the child would not yield. "Come on, Elladan! Do not make a scene like this. You are no longer an elfling."

The twin did not respond, despite his mother's tone, which was now quite unhappy; but neither did he unfold his arms, which he'd woven around himself in protection.

Idhrenniel approached then, observing the young elf carefully.

"Let him be, ma'am," she advised in a conciliatory tone. "Yesterday his injury seemed fairly well. The wound has only improved in recent days, isn't that true, Elladan?"

The twin looked at her quickly, lowering his face again. His brief nod of positive response, however, brought a strange uneasiness to the experienced healer. She approached him, also sitting on the boy's bed.

"Elladan, tell me the truth and I'll give the peace you wish for tonight," she asked with subtlety and calm. "Is your injury bothering you? Does it feel different from yesterday?"

Now Elladan breathed deeply before shaking his head. His answer had come much too slowly, and that made the two elf-ladies exchange glances. Celebrian curved her golden eyebrows, and then she began to untie the bonds of her son's tunic, even with his apparent objection. Idhrenniel had no alternative but to help the lady of the house.

When Elrond entered the bedroom he was surprised to see his eldest son standing in a corner. Elladan's eyes widened when he saw him, and he turned away before the small dresser and mirror, closing his eyes.

This scene... This same scene again, Elrond thought, his heart heavy. He had already experienced this scene and did not like the sensation, or what came after it. He moved his eyes to Idhrenniel then, noticing her concern.

"It seems to me that Elladan's injury is bothering him again, Lord Elrond," she said, stepping forward, her eyes fixed on her patient's figure, but she did not move closer to him. "I asked your wife to call you, sir, because he is reluctant in receiving my help."

Elrond shook his head briefly. He had already heard that report from Celebrian, who had come to him, pale faced, in the library and pulled him away without listening to any of his objections. He frowned, looking at his son's distressed face and what he could read there. He sighed then, approaching and sitting on the bed.

"Come here, _ion-nîn_," he said, and Elladan simply closed his eyes, without moving, as if trying to pretend he had not heard the call. "Here, Elladan! Now!" Elrond raised a hand to emphasize to his son that the command was not to be ignored.

The twin took a deep breath, his eyes still closed, and Elrond gave him a little more time before parting his lips to repeat the call. However there was no need, since the boy moved slowly, stopping before his father, with his arms still folded around him.

Elrond looked at him intently, reading, even without touching the child, the pain that was hidden there. He did not understand.

"Open your shirt," he said and the twin shuddered. "Open it, Elladan!"

The young elf took a deep breath again, then let his arms fall, allowing his shirt, the ties of which his mother had already undone, to hang open. The extended wound, which persisted in tracing its way down the boy's chest and abdomen, became visible then, but now, with new evidence of an infection that should already be gone.

"What have you been doing?" Elrond frowned, confused. "Have you trained harder than you should have in the camping practice, or tried to bend the great bow you won from your mentor?"

Elladan did not respond, letting brief shakes of his head do the negative role of words he could not say.

"He was not at training camp," Celebrian said, stepping forward. "Just Elrohir trained with the sword today. I even saw him there when I passed that way this afternoon. Glorfindel told me that Elladan had not even wanted to train with a bow."

"Why, _ion-nîn_? Were you already feeling something wrong in the wound this morning?"

Elladan pressed his lips together. Elrond felt that something seemed to be bothering his son too much. Therefore, the slight positive nod the boy gave was more like an evasive answer than information. Elrond's eyes moved over the injury again, examining it from beginning to end and he lamented he could not touch him as a healer, like his instincts told him to do.

"What do you say, _mellon-nîn_?" Elrond then looked to the elf-healer, who was still standing near them, only a little closer.

Idhrenniel's dark eyes followed the path that Elrond's had, analyzing the wound carefully. She was an experienced healer, and Elrond felt that she already had a theory concerning this puzzle "Are you sure you did not train with the sword, Elladan?" were the lady-elf's words, whose eyes now looked for the twin's, despite his looking elsewhere. Again the young elf took a longer period of time than necessary to give them a slight shake of his head in the negative.

"He was not in the field," Celebrian repeated. "Just Elrohir."

Elrond listened to his wife's statement, glancing at her briefly. His eyebrows then made that characteristic movement again, as an absurd idea took hold in his mind, making him feel as if an icy waterfall was cascading down his spine.

"Elladan. Where is your brother?"

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><p>I'd like to thank every review I received since the first chapter from <strong>Evereren, SivanShemesh, Duilin, Messissamed, Metoochocolate, The Pearl Maiden, Elfinabottle, Raynagh, Pity-be, sbyte, Eliza61, Agie, Viresse, Patty P, HedgehogTheBlue, Faine Webbe<strong>. Hope you are still reading and enjoying the story.

I'd also wanted to thank my lovely beta **Puxinette**, without her I could not do this.


	11. Risks

Here's chapter 11. Hope you like it. Please review, your opinion is really important to me.

Sadie

_A/N: italics are flashbacks._

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XI – RISKS<strong>

_Not everything that is faced can be changed, but nothing can be changed until it is faced."_

James Baldwin

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><p>Elrohir was on the second day of his journey. He had left Imladris yesterday in mid-afternoon with his brother's help. He had quickly climbed above the rim of the valley and pitched a tiny camp northeast of the Ford, spending the night with the soothing sound of the Bruinen to lull him to sleep. He loved the quiet noise of the river, because he loved the sound of running water as it flowed from places unknown and passed beyond him to sites uncertain. The strength of the pure liquid reminded him of his father, so listening to it during those few hours of his sleep was like feeling the figure of the elf right there, near him, very close, as the twin wished his father to be.<p>

He knew he should not have stopped, but nightfall compelled him to. As prepared as he felt the day before, when he convinced his twin to protect and cover for him in this more than risky maneuver, the end of this day left him with doubts, and he almost gave up. He had walked more than seven miles and the speed of his always quick steps had tired him out more than he would like to admit.

Now he was facing the end of his second day of hiking, even more tired than the day before and more afraid than he had been throughout his life. He had crossed the Ford with the waters softly caressing his chest, but did not risk swimming; he carried, in addition to his backpack and supplies, some extra gear that seemed to weigh more with each passing minute.

Now, after following a good part of the route that cut through a landscape of reddish rocks and tall pines, he dropped the bags and concealed himself in a brushy place far off the general path. He had made his way toward the Great East Road, but stayed in a parallel course through the forest undergrowth surrounded by soft grass. He did not want to be seen, because he knew that sooner or later someone would find out what Elladan had been willing to hide for as long as he could, and inevitably someone would try to find him.

Elrohir relaxed his shoulders, wondering who that person would be. He learned to hide his tracks and did it all the time, but he had never been away from the city alone, much less the valley, so he feared that, because of his inexperience, he might be found before he could accomplish what he set out to do.

It was a long journey, painted with delicacy on the map he was carrying, and he'd already divided it into the many days to come. He would have to traverse at least 12 miles a day if he wanted to be there before the end of the season. This could be the worst autumn of his life. If the winter overtook him before his arrival to the Grey Havens, everything would be more difficult. He knew that. But not so different than the previous seasons had been...

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><p>Elrond was on his black horse, crossing the calm waters of the Ford as fast as a lynx, and he urged his animal to quicken the pace even more. He had lost too much time in the steep way up the valley wall and now he needed to make up precious lost minutes.<p>

"_Ask Glorfindel to go with you, meleth-nin, please!"_

"_I cannot ask him to accompany me on a journey of no return, my Star," the healer said, picking up the latest provisions he judged to be necessary and arranging them in the packs he was taking._

"_No return? What do you mean?" Celebrian held her husband's arm, before he reached the bedroom door._

"_Did you see the letter of admission he left to the Council? He is willingly taking the blame for which I have tried to protect him. You know what that means."_

"_Do not deliver the letter..." Celebrian proposed. "Bring him back and..."_

"_And we will continue living lives of puppets here," Elrond said with darkened eyes. "Glorfindel is right. I did not sow anything with my decision other than pain and distress."_

"_Do not say that, meleth..."_

_Elrond held his wife's shoulders._

"_Our son had more courage than I did, Star of mine. He was foolish, immature, but much more effective in his decisions than I have been in recent times."_

"_What… do you mean? What are you going to do, Elrond?"_

_Elrond took a deep breath._

"_I envisioned this place, but nothing binds me to it. The river is contained by its own desire now and my thoughts will always be here. But the standard of my family can only be put down on a land where my loved ones would find peace and happiness. Rivendell is no longer that place. Elrohir's flight and the support he received from Elladan to that end were more than proof of what I am saying."_

_Celebrian felt her chin soften, as she finally interpreted the words her husband was trying to express. Her heart pounded with the absolute seriousness of the situation._

"_I'll go with you. Me and Elladan," she said, distressed, and did not wait for an answer, already moving away from him to put her words into action. This time it was Elrond who held her._

"_You stay," he said firmly, and faced the challenging look he received. "Elladan is injured, Star. With both of you going with me, what chance would I have to find Elrohir before he attempts what I imagine is on his mind or something worse happens to him?"_

_Celebrian turned pale then, and a glint of sadness and agony, that was just as acute as her husband's, shone in her eyes. Elrond held her shoulders again, but the warmth of love showed plainly on his face._

"_As soon as I find him I will make you aware of where we are. And I will wait for you if you still want to follow me. Ask Glorfindel to bring you and Elladan to me."_

_Celebrian pursed her lips, swallowing the tears that choked her._

"_Do you really think Glorfindel will be here? Once he finds out what has happened, he will go charging out through that gate behind you in record time."_

"_Do not let him find out then, Star," Elrond proposed, already picking up his packs and checking outside through the darkened window. His wife frowned, following her husband._

"_What?"_

"_I need him to be here. Your parents are leaving tomorrow, and I want him at your and Elladan's side," he said, turning to her already with the packs secured to his back. He hated seeing her eyes clouded with tears. He stepped back, holding her face with both hands. "Perhaps there is another way to resolve this impasse, my love, but I can only regret not seeing it now; I do not wish to choose an action that brings you more pain. But time is my enemy, and all I can do is beg you to ensure Elladan's safety while I am searching for Elrohir."_

"_Alone..." Celebrian repeated her complaint, sadly._

"_As I have been several times in my life. If you cannot judge me able to do this, melethril-nin, I don't know from whom we would wait for this confidence... There may be no one else..."_

Elrond took a deep breath, feeling a pang in his chest as he remembered the sad faces of his wife and son at the bay window, the only witnesses to the furtive exit of the one who was once the master of the Last Homely House.

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><p>The sun of the third day of Elrohir's trip dawned with the young elf already embroiled in the woods that covered the northern part of the valley. He had taken advantage of the darkness to cross the last bridge and left the river of his land behind. The road wound through the woods, which embraced the hills. The weather held, and the warmth of autumn offered him some comfort.<p>

The twin had hardly slept for two nights, keeping to the pace he set, although sometimes slower, sometimes faster. As he finally forced his way through some scrubby brush bordering the hillside, he was relieved to find that the end of the forest was already in sight.

He was really quite fast, at least that's what everyone always told him. It might have been because of this, or his utter lack of rest, that he was winning the miles that separated him from his goal in less time than his daily calculation predicted.

When the brightness of midday beat down on the top of his head for longer than he could bear, the young elf finally decided to seek shelter under the friendly shade of a tree. It was too hot for an autumn day, and in the distance he could see some dark gray smudges mixed on the horizon closer than he would like them to be.

The rain could wait a bit, he thought. Or he could have a ring like his father.

His father... What would be he thinking about him at this moment?

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><p>Elrond crossed the same bridge by which the young elf had gone, but his instincts were screaming that he had lost too much time. He could not feel his son's presence, as he usually could, even riding almost without giving himself, or the gentle steed that was willing to bear him, any rest.<p>

He stopped on a winding road, concentrating on his surroundings with his ears, while the black horse pranced in place, as if he felt the same emotions as his rider—they needed to move and move fast.

"Elrohir ... where you are, _ion-nîn_?"

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><p>And the promised rain fell. And it did not fall for only mere hours. It came down during two days practically uninterrupted; leaving the paths covered in mud and the transit of animals a great inconvenience.<p>

Elrohir ran from it in the first hours of the seventh day, finally taking shelter in some recesses of the green hills, but the waiting got on his nerves, and he decided to face whatever nature had proposed as a challenge. He bravely walked for two and a half days without any truce, from himself or from the sky above his head.

Elrond was not so lucky, losing hours to deviate from a stretch interrupted by two large fallen trees and a rockslide. The healer began to regret his decision to come on horseback.

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><p>From the balcony of her room, Celebrian watched the sunrise still wet from the rain; she'd hardly come outside in recent days. She sought to avoid being seen since Elrond left, because she felt that her fears were increasingly visible as the days ran on without any news. She knew that anyone, whether they knew her well or not, would be able to read the apprehension perfectly on her face.<p>

She sighed. She actually wished that someone would see, and then she would have no choice than to tell them what had happened. Since her parents had returned to the Havens she felt completely alone.

_Elbereth_, it had been difficult to meet the gaze of her father, as she wore the protective mask that almost hurt her face. But she had to prevent herself from revealing what she was not yet sure she should in fact be hiding.

"_So Elrond and Elrohir have gone traveling together?" Celeborn, intrigued, repeated the information he just heard, as he looked his daughter in the eyes._

_Celebrian nodded her head, but the confirmation only made her father's pale eyebrows bend down into a frown. The elf glanced at his wife, in whose features were traced the same signs of doubt._

"_Why did they not say goodbye?" Galadriel asked._

"_It was late," their daughter answered quickly, and her parents again examined her strangely serene face. The almost total lack of emotion in Celebrian's expression caused them to suspect that she was hiding something._

"_We do not need to travel today if you and Elladan are alone, ield-nîn," Celeborn risked saying, and then he noticed a bright light that appeared in his daughter's eyes, like tears very well camouflaged. But this signal disappeared as quickly and subtlety as it had arisen. Celebrian breathed deeply, filling her lungs slowly, and before any revealing words had escaped from her lips, she forced a small smile, shaking her head._

"_They will return soon. They are just spending time together, away from the eyes of all... The situation in which we have found ourselves, has practically forced them to do this. You can go in peace," she said, offering the most plausible excuse that occurred to her. She'd spoken in a calm tone, hoping to ease their suspicions, even though her heart desired in almost total despair to beg her parents to do the exact opposite of what she was saying. The future would show to all from whom Elrohir had learned to both act out his feelings and hide them skillfully._

Celebrian closed her eyes, remembering the agony she felt at seeing her parents pass through the gate as they left. Her mother turned her face toward her one last time, and she was afraid that her attempt at hiding her feelings had not been totally convincing, so she reinforced her expression, as much as her heavy heart allowed her to, giving a brief nod to her mother, whose return look, also brief, was even less convincing.

"My sweet _Varda_..." Celebrian said to herself, covering her face with her hands for a moment and breathing deeply. She needed to calm down; she needed to believe that everything would work as Elrond had told it would. She needed to believe. She must believe.

She dropped her hands to her sides then, her eyes already fixed on the gate again. The subtle wind blew at her hair, which barely swayed around her shoulders. She had no desire to leave the house anymore, unless it was to go to the barn to catch the first horse that she could find and go after the ones she loved.

The ones she loved... Her gaze moved inside, and then she stepped into the bedroom, looking at the big double bed, on top of which her eldest son was fast asleep. Like her, Elladan also had spent enough sleepless nights, sharing the same concerns, following his mother's every movement with a worried look she could not totally decipher.

The boy had done this for many days, until Celebrian's mother's heart judged that some action should be taken. She asked Idhrenniel to make him sleep, even if only for a few hours. His wound had not healed and after worrying about him for so long, she felt she could not wait for him to fall asleep on his own. He'd been through so much pain and anguish. So she kept him near, within the reach of her hand, because, since Elrohir had gone, she had an uncontrollable fear that Elladan might unexpectedly do the same.

The lady elf approached the bed and finally decided to lie down for a few moments beside her child. She put her arm over his back and smiled when he drew nearer, even in his forced asleep. She stroked his hair, softly singing her old lullaby, the same one she sang when the twins were babies. Her worry lessened when the boy quieted down again in her arms.

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><p>An arduous journey. At least it was what the Rivendell family's youngest member thought now, falling exhausted in the bog of the soggy Midgewater Marshes. The rain turned the small ponds into large dark pools, but at least it kept away the flies these marshes named for.<p>

He dropped his shoulders, hanging his head until he felt his hair touch the water that covered his bent knees. Water, water, and water. He felt that his body would never be dry again in his entire existence. He was tired, hungry and cold, and even his will to stand seemed to have abandoned him. Although he was in the most inhospitable and inappropriate place to kneel and leave his things at the mercy of the environment, he could go no farther.

Damn marsh. He had already traveled much of its length and the miserable place still seemed endless. Why, in the perfect sound that created everything, had a single note been chosen to create a landscape like this, he managed to think, before all other thoughts seemed to escape him, along with his lucidity and his desire to stay awake.

"Hey, little one. Aren't you a bit far from your land?" A voice came through the damp and mist, but it was enough to make the young elf stand once more and immediately draw the dagger he carried in his boot.

The cloaked figure paused for a moment, examining the scene, and his head hung to one side as if trying to make sense of it. Elrohir decided not to wait for the stranger to figure things out. The man's face was swallowed in the dark stain of his hood, Elrohir took a few steps backward, fearing to turn his back on the stranger.

"You're not from the small people." The sentence was a statement, but on the lips of the traveler it sounded more like an impolite question.

Elrohir stopped again, but raised his weapon, when he saw the traveler take a few steps closer.

"Are you from the beautiful people?" inquired the stranger, now looking into the face that interested him. "You look like an elf, but your stature is not of one of them. You are a child, aren't you? What is your name? What are you doing here? Are you lost? "

Elrohir did not respond to any of those questions, setting out to analyze the gentle tone that the stranger tried to give to his voice, but not feeling the confidence that should have been bound to it. He started to observe the garments of the wanderer with caution. His weapon rose higher.

"Hey, little one," insisted the other, who tried to seem as wary of Elrohir as Elrohir was of him. "What brings you here? I am a merchant; I have food and other things to offer. "

Elrohir didn't understand that comment, but only then realized what motivated it. Among the baggage he carried on his back with such difficulty, an important element had escaped from the cloth which covered it, and it had let forth its shine.

"Is it a sword that you have there, little one? It seems too big for you. It is, isn't it?" He approached a little nearer with a smirk on his lips that Elrohir was able to see, even though it was the only clear image escaping from the dark hood. "I have one here that can serve you better than that one. How about making an exchange?"

Elrohir inhaled slowly, carefully watching the stranger's movements. The traveler carried a bulky mound on his back, where Elrohir could make out a backpack and many animal skins hanging from it. There were other unknown tools; among them was a specific one the stranger seemed suddenly very interested in showing to him. The man pulled it with a speed that did not fit the role of merchant he'd been trying to play...

It was a shiny dagger, but, the traveler was startled to see that in its quick path was another weapon, almost identical to it, in the unlikely hands of this elf-boy...

"By the north wind!" That's what the traveler said in his surprise, realizing he was feuding hard against someone whose stature was not two thirds of his. "You were well trained, young one," he laughed then, but he didn't seem intimidated by the speed of the young elf.

Unfortunately, Elrohir was not able to give his best. His training with wooden swords did not make him able to expertly use the long dagger he had taken from his father's armory when he left Rivendell. Because he feared throwing it on the ground, the excessive baggage he was already carrying, threw him off balance. To make matters worse, he was already tired from almost nonstop traveling.

"Come on, boy," the big man tried again. They seemed to be spending their time more in spinning in circles in the swamp than actually clashing their weapons. "I have no intention of hurting you. I really do not mean you any harm, right? Let's negotiate."

Elrohir ignored those false words, but the stranger's talk made his heart beat faster. His eyes were trying hard to focus now, as an inconvenient veil of dense fog descended over them. This was his first real conflict and it was completely different from those summer tests in Rivendell.

No, this was not a competition and the stranger was not one of his colleagues or mentors.

And although the man kept smiling, his bushy and misaligned eyebrows seemed to show his true intentions, which in the eyes of the young elf, were not even close to what the merchant's voice tried to convey.

The daggers clashed again and again, and so many other times that Elrohir gave up counting. He now had his lips parted, the air escaping them as if it was the enemy's ally. His back ached because of the weight of his burdens, and his steps were more deliberate with each new attack.

However, what the stranger might not have expected, when he decided to make someone so young his enemy, was that the battle would be this difficult. He also struggled to keep his breathing controlled, trying hard to move his legs, with soaked boots making them weigh twice as much as they did before. When the boy escaped from a blow that seemed perfect, the man was angry.

"You disgraceful little boy! Why don't you give up at once? I just want the weapon; do not make me leave your body here for your father to find, floating in this disgusting swamp."

Elrohir's eyes rounded with the comment, even though he knew it was a mere fighter's bluff. His hard trainings with Glorfindel had taught him the usefulness of such tactics. Only now did he understand the reason of his Mentor's exceptionally irritating lessons. He escaped the next assault as well, but all those thoughts, added to his extreme tiredness, stole a bit of speed he had used previously, and he finally allowed his right arm to be reached.

He did not scream, even feeling an almost unbearable pain.

He would not scream. He would not...

Even so, the opponent let out a sickening sound of satisfaction with the successful movement and gyrated his own weapon, now stained with blood, three more times just for fun. The accurate assault added a glow to his cruel look. However, the absence of any sound of protest or pain from his opponent, even with a painful injury, intrigued him more than he wanted to admit. That could just be how an elf-boy fought, but his warrior attitude was starting to arouse the stranger's protective instincts.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" He tried to use some provocation, another efficient weapon in any good fight, as he watched the blood drip from the exposed cut on the young elf's arm. "Imagine how it will feel when I stab you right in your heart? Do you think that will hurt too? Do you think you'll die immediately?" he went on, shaking his dagger and continuing to threaten attack, just to confuse the boy's mind even more.

"_What is a mercenary, Erestor?" inquired the young elf, as he sat on the floor between two shelves in the library with a great book on his legs. In front of him the older twin glanced up from his own reading, first looking at his brother and then turning to the mentor with the same curiosity._

_The adviser stopped what he was doing, placed his pen in the inkwell and looked patiently at his two disciples._

"_Mercenaries are people who associate their work to any gain, regardless of how this gain is accomplished. Usually they have no ideology and are on this earth to an all or nothing end. "_

_An __all __or __nothing __end_, the twin mentally repeated. Then suddenly the enemy's dagger came to meet him again. The sharp sound of their metal weapons, clashing once more, made him miss being on the cold floor of that library. He had to try to find himself as a warrior in this conflict. It was what Glorfindel always told him. _Even __in __the __worst __of __times, __you __need __to __know __who __you __are __and __whom __you __are __fighting __against._

The man in front of him seemed to be trying to do the same, because his movements had quickened and he had strengthened his attacks, as if he wished to end this conflict as soon as possible. The daggers danced together again, and the man's rabid expression made Elrohir's heart heavy. His own hand, dripping with the blood that was running down his arm, seemed weighted, and the pain of that opened wound oppressive... For the first time, he desired to quit.

But he would not give up. His mentors' words were a reason for that, but they were also his anchor. So he kept his mind occupied with their images, with Glorfindel's reassuring smile, words of defiance, but also encouragement; with Erestor's considerate gaze and his good advice, even that which came from the advisor's mouth as a lecture. _Elbereth_, at that moment he thanked his good mentors and how much he had learned with them, through love and pain.

Then the daggers spun again, until the enemy's choked voice invaded his thoughts once more.

"Your arm does not look good, elf-boy," he laughed. His back was slightly bent as he walked around his prey, holding the dagger with both hands. He also seemed tired. "I think that, with all this blood coming out of you, soon the insects will have new flesh to devour. Did you know that they eat elf's meat? It's their favorite."

That bastard... Elrohir thought, feeling a shiver run up his body. Although his mind did not believe a word he heard, his heart could not help fearing the conditions in which he found himself. He wanted to cling to the reassuring images as he had been doing, but his whole body seemed to be his enemy too. His arms were heavy, his back was almost numb with pain and the blood that flowed incessantly from his open wound made the hilt of his dagger, now handled with both hands, treacherously slick.

In addition, his heart was the greatest obstacle. The sensations he had inside himself...

He was alone, injured... and trapped...

And the pain... the incessant pain...He closed his eyes once more and, because of his weakness caused by the rapid loss of blood, he opened them almost a second too late. When he could finally do it, all he saw was a dagger coming toward his neck.

The mercenary thought that finally this battle was won, but the assault was stopped again, as improbable as it seemed. And that unexpected act stole a cry of frustration from the enemy, who advanced a few more times, spinning his weapon higher and moving his body toward the young elf. Soon Elrohir was leaning, almost to his knees, limited to only receiving the blows that came, all his power now centered in the only arm that still could serve him. Agonizing sounds filled the air as the stranger attacked again with such force, that Elrohir's dagger flew from his hand.

This time his cry of pain was uncontrollable.

"Strong boy!" the winner laughed aloud at last and moved one step away as if he wanted to admire a hard achievement.

Elrohir fell on his knees, holding his new injury, trying to manage the more intense pain and the anger that the man's laughter caused him. He was going to die. _Elbereth_, he was… And he was so afraid… _Ilúvatar,_ he would die and maybe his father would find him here as the man had said. And his mother would cry over his body. And his brother… Elrohir closed his eyes when he thought about his brother. Poor Elladan… _Elbereth,_Elladan would feel guilty because he had helped him. His dear brother… Elrohir lamented his stubborn foolishness. Why was he so stupid and why had he not listened to his twin for the first time? Elladan had told him that this plan would be dangerous. He did… He advised him exactly as he had advised him about the sword in the past. It was not fair; he could not continue making his family suffer this way, even after death…

That thought was the last one in which he could concentrate his energy, before noticing that the man was moving closer again. Maybe the thief had already had fun enough observing the suffering of his prey and had decided to end it now. However, the opponent's joy did not last long. It lasted just long enough for him to realize that, to his total surprise and indignation, his opponent's new injury now in the left forearm, had not intimidated the young elf. Elrohir used his last bit of strength and rose back up again, though empty-handed. Bright red blood was soaking both of his hands now, but, even unarmed, his dark eyes were still facing the enemy.

Elrohir forgot his fears and looked at the image in front of him, trying to manage the conflict that was established inside him: the scared little boy and the warrior he would have been one day. He took a deep breath. No, no. He would not fear death, this was the first lesson he received from his master.

_The __fall __comes __to __some __good __fighters, __Elrohir_, Glorfindel once told him. _And __it __does __not __disparage __the __qualities __of __this __soldier. __The __important __thing __is __that, __before __it, __the __warrior __saves __the __last __image __he __saw, __so __that __he __is__sure __of __what __the __obstacle __was __that __interrupted __his __career, __thereby __learning __his __last __great __lesson._

The twin breathed in deeply again, remembering that valuable lesson while keeping his dark eyes stuck on his opponent; his first, and perhaps, his only opponent. He wanted to see this enemy, remember this face, even if it was his last memory. He wanted to follow his master's instructions and, at least at this final moment, not disappoint him.

His enemy was an adan, an adan with sunburned skin and a brown dingy beard. When he smiled there were several missing teeth in his mouth, but others had a strange glow.

And he was laughing… _Elbereth,_that man had a very annoying laugh…

"Come on, little boy," he said with renewed debauchery. There was an almost insane joy on his face, but he seemed too tired to understand what was passing through the child's mind. No, he didn't want to understand a thing anymore. He was getting sick and tired of looking at this irritating child. This little boy had made him work. He was a brat. But soon everything would end...

He advanced in the twin's direction with a purposeful, intimidating scream, spreading his arms like a big bear just to scare the elf. He wanted to keep laughing, to have some fun until the last minute, to scare the bastard, pointed-eared stubborn child until the last second of his unfortunate life. If the boy wanted to look at him, he would have a good opportunity to do that, before having his head cut off his small weak bloody body.

But Elrohir swayed back, as he instinctively sought some form of escape, impossible as it seemed to him now.

"Are you thinking about running away?" provoked the other, between surprise and indignation, while performing a sleight, which resembled a weird ballet in water. He was demonstrating how he would prevent his victim from escaping, no matter how hard the elf might try.

Elrohir looked into the stranger's eyes again, the mocking tone of the enemy darkening his pupils even more. Although he was badly wounded and his pain increased considerably, the twin's rebellious spirit insisted on manifesting, regardless of the extreme situation in which he found himself. His challenging gaze returned to adorn his face, raising another mixture of amazement and exasperation in his opponent.

"I should tie you up here for the mosquitoes bite you until you go insane, you little bastard," said the other one, still stunned by the fight that remained in this elf. "So your father or anyone, who might be interested in you, would have the latest disappointment in his life, finding your dead and eaten body here in this end of world," he added, opening his arms when Elrohir tried to escape once again. "Tell me the truth, you brat. This weapon you have been protecting with your life; you stole it, didn't you?"

Finally the opponent realized he had found the last weapon he needed. The young elf had paled visibly because of the question, arousing a more satisfying sound from the enemy.

"Ah! Are you a little thief?" he asked, his voice almost purring with triumph. "You are no better than me, are you? You are just like any other little bastard thief. A thief with pointed ears," he completed, satisfied with the red tone on the boy's face. He advanced in Elrohir's direction again, ending his challenge in a tone of pure provocation. "I thought elves were not thieves. Maybe they are not and would die of shame if they knew one of their own steals. "

If there was anything that stranger might have said in that moment, undeniably, it should not have been that. However, the man did not realize it; he did not notice the boy's darkened pupils, nor his very pale face. So, when he decided to finish the conflict forever and took firm steps toward his easy prey, he had the last surprise of his life. In seconds his body was floating in that swamp, and his head, separated from him, was floating a few meters away.

Elrohir stood still for a moment, shocked. The big and heavy sword that had been constantly on his back was now, incredibly, firmly in his hand, red blood slowly trickling down it, the metal darker than ever.

* * *

><p>Elrond could hardly believe when the legs of his horse were finally in the swamp waters. The torrential rain greatly hampered his search, stopping him from carefully examining the recesses of landscapes, the hidden paths, the small caves and other places that could contain any clue.<p>

A clue. A good clue was all he needed. He had lost so much time on muddy paths and crossroads, and now his body barely contained the drumming of the anguished heart which was echoing in his chest.

The scene he came upon a moment later did not help him much...

The horse stopped so abruptly at his request that it raised its front legs, bringing its torso a few inches up; as if the animal also felt there was something wrong. A few meters away there was an almost indecipherable image, which floated in the shallow and dark waters that evening.

The Elf-lord dismounted when the animal was close enough. He walked slowly through the reddish water, trying hard to understand what he saw. It took a few minutes for him to realize that it was a corpse, which floated loosely in the fetid water.

"_Ilúvatar!_" he claimed to himself, trying to understand the crucial detail that only now became obvious. Because of the grisly scene, he immediately drew his sword, looking around cautiously.

The Midgewater Marshes had always been a very inhospitable place, but except for its unpleasant landscape, and even more unpleasant fauna, it had been a long time since any violence had been heard of in the region.

Elrond took the time to examine the eerie scene. The place seemed empty; the evening had turned the light mist to a dark and dense fog. He raised his hood to protect himself from insects, and looked once more at the body that swayed in the water. It took him a while longer to find, finally, what was missing: A few inches away from the body, nearly half a meter actually, the surprised face of the victim revealed itself from a place of less darkened waters. Elrond approached. The victim's eyes were still open and visible, even underwater. Elrond looked at them, as if they might give him some new information.

There was very little, almost nothing. The person was totally unknown to him; maybe he was a wanderer, a dealer or someone else. It did not seem to matter now.

He turned toward the other side of the swamp, torn between what his conscience and his heart were discussing. Finally, he let out a resigned sigh, grabbed the man's clothes and dragged him to a dry edge. Burying the body in respect of the man's soul was not exactly what Elrond's heart wanted him to do, but he could not just leave the poor stranger to the mercy of the animals in the region.

It was then that he saw it. He had taken few steps toward where he was going to dig the grave when the glow of a weapon's blade flashed underwater. Elrond dropped the body atop higher ground, and then crouched down. He picked up the dagger, recognizing it immediately.

"_Elbereth!_" He looked up, moving his eyes in all directions again. Only now did the sinister scene offer him unthinkable meanings. Elrond felt his heart speed up again, watching the red that cruelly dyed that very sad water. "Elrohir..." His son's name escaped from his mouth as if it was caught in his throat, preventing him from breathing. He ignored all his previous thoughts and intentions, and quickly mounted his horse. He raised his voice to show his equine friend the urgency of their mission. Soon they were at the end of the marsh, burrowing themselves into the forest.

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><p><strong>I'd like to say thanks to everyone who read my story, my special thanks to <em>The<em>_Pearl__Maiden,__Viresse,__Duilin,__Pity-be,__Evereven,__SivanShemesh_ for their comments about chapter 10 and, of course, to my lovely friend and beta _Puxinette_.**


	12. Misadventures and Mismatches - Part 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

_Italics _are flashback

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XII - Misadventures and Mismatches – Part I<strong>

"_There is no greater misfortune than expecting misfortune."_

Pedro Barca

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><p>The Great Road crossed the southern portion of Chet Forest, rising slightly uphill. It was by this way Elrond now rode; his watchful eyes were in the woods, his ears focused on every sound, while he gave thanks that the remnants of the storm of many days had finally diminished. His heart was full of anguish, but also expectation. That's why the sounds of the night in those dark woods filled him with anxiety, as if at any moment he judged that the answer to his desires would emerge as a whisper out of the brush.<p>

His hopes, however, disappeared as the first light of the day seeped through the leaves and branches, casting green and yellow rays through the forest before him. He had taken the hidden paths, inspecting every crevice which could be a safe hiding place. He even found some clues: painful crimson color on some fallen leaves, on some twisted trunks; unmistakable signs of pain and of the hard struggle of someone who was trying to keep moving on an arduous way. However, occasionally, they all disappeared, only to reappear on an unlikely path, just to disappear again.

Elrond knew it was his son, walking wounded, weaving his way in confusing turns to make the clues become useless. At that moment the father's heart of him regretted the choice he had made when he asked for a great combatant such as Glorfindel to instruct the twins in the arts of war. Worse than trying to follow an apprentice of the notorious warrior of ancient Gondolin, was to follow the best one of those apprentices.

He was at the Hill of Bree. The region was first explored, cultivated and inhabited by Edain, ancient descendants of the Dunland people, who were grouped in small villages, occupying the few miles of this area. They had built a gate to the south, in which was established a Gatekeeper's Lodge before the Road headed west. It was in this direction that Elrond followed, reaching the place as soon as the sun showed its lazy morning face after many days of unstable gray weather.

An _Adan_ emerged from the rustic wooden door, rubbing his eyes to get rid of sleep. He had distinguished the figure of a rider urging his horse at a strangely fast gait and, noticing him alone, the man lowered his shields of caution, succumbing to curiosity, especially when he realized that the newcomer was a member of the beautiful people.

Elrond did not even dismount; he did not want to seem rude, but his concern grew as every sound the hooves of his horse made on that road rang out loudly in the new day; a road which already seemed endless to him. His anxiety rose to an extreme level and now he could barely hide his concern for his son in his usual demeanor of peace.

"Greetings," he told the man as soon he was able to see him clearly.

"Greetings, Master Elf," answered the gatekeeper with respect, his hand over his eyes, trying to identify the newcomer against the morning light. "What brings you in such a hurry to these lands, sir?"

Elrond rode his horse in a full circle, his eyes scouring the landscape in the distance, before he finally turned to face the gatekeeper.

"I'm Elrond Peredhel. I ask you to forgive my mood and my urgency, but I search for one of mine and I fear that he's hurt."

The man opened his eyes briefly, even against the sun.

"Lord Elrond? The Lord of Rivendell?" he asked, and after the rapid confirmation of the newcomer, he could not avoid the look of disbelief that colored his features. If the Elf was the important person he claimed to be, why was he riding alone, without escort or any other protection?

Elrond translated that shadow of suspicion immediately and was not surprised to find it so obviously displayed upon the man's face. He knew he should be cautious, but he was too distressed to worry if the_Adan_believed he was who he claimed to be or not.

"I'm looking for a boy, sir. I travel fast and have to continue to do that until I find him. As I said before, I fear he is injured."

The gatekeeper opened his eyes wide, this time because of the Elf's decided tone and the gravity of his words.

"A boy? An elf-boy?"

"Yes. His stature does not reach your shoulders, sir. His hair is similar to mine."

The man pressed his lips together; a series of questions was chaining in his mind. The Elves were extremely careful with their children. Why would one be lost?

"Were you in a group which was attacked, sir? Is the boy lost? Was he captured?" The gatekeeper was confused, and he knew he must sound so, voicing his doubts almost without thinking. However, when he saw the anguished gaze the Lord-elf kept pinned to the horizon, and his absence of reaction to the questions he was hearing now, the man thought it was wiser to keep the other whys he would like to ask to himself. Whatever had happened, it seemed to be quite severe. "I'm afraid I have not seen him, Lord Elrond. However, I promise to keep my eye out."

Elrond sighed, his worried eyes fixed on the still gray dawn. He just nodded, almost imperceptibly. The few clues he had found pointed to this region which, of course, Elrohir would have to cross, if he was really going where Elrond thought his son was planning to go. However, the boy showed himself as a bearer of remarkable skill, because, even wounded, he made an absurdly complex path, leaving as minimal clues as possible.

"Can I help you with anything else, Lord Elrond?" the gatekeeper asked, feeling sorry for not being able to do more than just admit him through the gate. He could tell that the elf lord's quest was a very serious and urgent one.

The Elf pressed his anxious lips together. His horse was already moving in circles again into a genuine reflection of the urgency of its master. He finally turned quickly to look at the man questioning him.

"I am very grateful to you, sir. I only ask for permission to cross this land you protect."

The man offered a worried smile, moved by the extreme kindness and consideration, but he knew that the Lord-elf, being who he was, did not have to ask permission to cross any road.

"Follow the direction you need, sir. I wish you a safe journey and hope you meet the boy unharmed without delay," he replied. Elrond nodded in response, briefly placing his hand on his chest and making a quick bow. He just as suddenly moved forward, his eyes already fixed in the way he had to go.

Elrond traveled a few more miles on the slippery ground, and gradually more signs of life began to emerge. It was the village of Bree, which was where the road began to curve to the east toward the intersection of the two major roads in the region: The Great East Road, by which Elrond was riding, and The Old North Road, an arduous path, which he knew his son would not follow.

The intersection of these two roads was to the west of the Hill of Bree, an obligatory path if one wished to abandon these lands. But before arriving at the crossroad, far before reaching the second gate, Elrond had to stop his horse, when he felt an inexplicable shiver run down his spine. He turned again toward the hill. He knew that these breaks he was taking were risky; he had made several of them, often deviating from his path to check dark recesses, dense woods for any possible hiding places in which his son perhaps might find shelter. He felt divided, as if every moment he had to stop or reduce his pace, he feared going unnoticed by his child, hurt or hidden somewhere, and he risked the chance of not seeing Elrohir himself if he did not go to this extreme. But using time in this way could prevent him from finding the boy at all, if his son, for some unbelievable reason, had not stopped for a single moment.

Elrond exhaled. Was it possible? Could a boy, wounded, inexperienced and alone, manage to continue so arduous a journey?

Elrond closed his eyes, laying his hand on his chest.

No. A child probably would not have gone so far. But Elrohir... Elrohir was not just a child...

Though, another detail bothered him greatly: The mysterious scene he had come upon in the Marshes... Who could be responsible for that? Had the boy been helped by something?

Elrond looked back as his horse moved ahead, his eyes roaming the green hill nervously, restlessly searching, for no apparent reason, a land that was clear enough and that was obviously empty. Why could he not leave this region?

He did not know the answer to this nagging question. Nor did he know why his mind insisted that he study this village of so few homes so closely. They were just some isolated houses on the hill, some closer, others far apart, all very similar. Most were made of clay, wood and stone, but they were solid and safe, and they kept their owners warm in winter with little trouble and were quite cool in extreme heat. Elrond, anguished, looked at them, as if trying to read a scroll in a language long forgotten.

It was then that he saw something; a remote glow in an open window of one of the nearby houses. It was a very old place, so damaged that any person who passed it would deem it abandoned. The only window had no frame and a lopsided shutter hung by a single remaining hinge, as if it would fall at any time.

Elrond frowned suspiciously, his gaze lost in the darkness of that unknown room. His horse, however, had already begun to step, undecided, in that direction. The brightness appeared at the window again, a faint glow like a pair of blue stars.

They were eyes. Elrond was sure of it. A pair of eyes unknown to him, but that looked at him as if the feeling was not mutual. The Elf-lord tentatively approached the house, but Elrond was not blessed with that vision again; the brightness seemed to have completely disappeared in the darkness of the room. Elrond, standing nearly two meters from the house, took a deep breath, knowing the urgency of his situation, the despair in which his spirit dwelt. Nevertheless he needed to focus, to appear to be in a state of peace he was not in, because, if he did not do that, he might not be awarded the necessary information.

"Hello," he called, steering his mount a few steps to the right and left, in order to try to peer into the darkness of the room through the window. "Please, I'm looking for one of mine," he said, straining his ears to try to hear any movement.

Strange... There was no noise ... Nor could he feel any presence... Could he have been wrong?

Elrond breathed deeply again, while his eyes continued to analyze the enigma before him. He finally dropped his shoulders, moving his horse with the intention of returning to his original path.

"He looks like you." A voice startled him then, also scaring his mount.

"_Gwiil_, Durion..." Elrond said, placing his hand on the neck of the horse, and the black animal obeyed, stopping and offering the Elf-lord the opportunity to understand where the voice had come from.

In the same window was now an _Adan_, an old woman with almond-shaped eyes, a bent back and pale skin. She also frowned when she saw him, looking at the elf's face very carefully.

"Yes, he does… He looks like you," the old lady said, repeating the phrase Elrond had not heard well. The meaning of it slowly dawned on the Elf's face and he opened his eyes wide. He jumped from his horse at once and rapidly leaned into the window.

"My Lady, I beg you to have mercy on this father's heart of mine and tell me where he is," he said.

The woman parted her lips, moved by those words, then she pressed them slowly closed, but her gaze was still an analytical one.

"Are you his father?"

"Yes... I'm Elrond Peredhel. I came from Rivendell."

"And the boy?"

"Elrohir. The youngest of my twin sons."

The woman paused thoughtfully, her eyes still fixed on the figure before her.

"You look like a concerned father," she observed, and Elrond let out an anguished sigh. He was worried, too distressed to try to understand what was behind her comment.

"I beg you, my lady," he pleaded again, feeling in his heart that time was against him. "Is Elrohir here? Have you seen him?"

"Why would a worried father, such as you, allow his child to be in the situation in which I found him, Elrond of Rivendell?" The woman's tone changed, but there was sincerity in it, a blunt honesty that Elrond felt like a sharp dagger being plunged into his chest. It was not only those true and direct words that tortured him, but the quite disturbing image of his wounded son expressed in those lines.

Elrond was lost in those horrible thoughts for a moment, but then decided to be as honest as possible.

"Whatever he is doing, he is doing for me, my lady. He ran away because he wants to correct a mistake he made, and he judges, in the innocence of a child and in his heart of a good son, that, in doing, he will save me from much misfortune. I've been trying to find him for a long time, so that I can tell him there is no need for this... I... I fear for his safety, my lady, because he is still a child; he has never travelled alone."

The woman listened to the narrative, her eyes attentive, and then there was a silence in which Elrond felt submerged, like a drowning man who lacks any air. He closed his eyes for a moment, but he was preparing to restructure his rhetoric to a new insistence when the lady took the first step and spoke again.

"He appeared here badly injured. Both arms... extensive and deep cuts..." she said, her eyes wandering, as if on the sad image of the recent past. "His clothes were soaked with water and blood and he was exhausted. I had to help him."

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><p>"<em>Oh, my boy… What are you doing here alone in the darkness?" the woman asked with a sigh of relief when she saw the clear eyes of the little elf open. She had found him lying near the roots of an old oak tree, as if trying to hide. She had already stripped off his soaked shirt and treated the injuries on both of his arms. "It's all right," she tried to ensure when the boy's eyes rounded and he shied away from her, seeking shelter behind the tree to protect himself and clearly searching for a way to escape. "I'm not going to hurt you. You were wounded and I treated your cuts. I applied a bit of the juice from the bark of that tree there." She smiled, moving the lamp she held to illuminate a nearby bush. "It's a good healing plant."<em>

_The young elf looked at the tree she had pointed out. The shock he felt at being startled by her seemed to have awakened the last of his energy, but he continued to observe his surroundings fearfully._

"_What's your name, little one?" asked the woman, and Elrohir finally looked into her eyes. She had a sweet voice in a tone he had never heard before. Erestor always said that the Edain lost the cadence of their voices over time, but in return, they earned a gentle tone of someone who had finally reached the age of wisdom. It seemed to be true. "You can tell me, boy. I won't do any harm. You have my word. What is your name? What cruel soul did this to you?"_

_Elrohir pressed his lips together, unsure of what to do. He looked at the sky above his head. It seemed to be dawn ... but of what day? He moved his eyes to the bandages on his arms. Why was he hurt? What had happened? He could not remember..._

"_Someone tried to do something wrong with you, son?" the woman asked gently._

_Elrohir looked at her again. He had seen an Adan few times in his existence, only the ones that accompanied the delegations who visited Rivendell or stopped there for some other reason. But in these delegations rarely were there older Edain. He remembered well the first time he had seen one of them. He was the captain of a patrol, whose face was marked by numerous scars, and he also had those timelines that Erestor had later explained._

_Timelines. He liked to see them. They were signs which indicated how strong and resilient the members of that people were. Erestor had taught him that the years did not pass for the Edain as for the Elves and that their lives were fragile. So those who were blessed with the opportunity to reach old age in fact had to be admired and widely respected._

_His brief reverie was interrupted then by a small increase of pain in his left arm. He turned to see the old lady checking his bandages again. He was injured... Why was he hurt? What had happened? Why could he not remember?_

"_You seem to be in pain, little one," the woman observed, gently placing her hand on the bandages on his arm, and sighing to feel how fearful the boy still seemed to be. She wanted to ask him what had happened, but the child's suffering and frightened face was not inspiring her to ask any questions. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise, son. It's cold. It is still dark. Come to my house. When the sun rises I will ask the men of the village to seek some of your people." That guarantee, unfortunately, did not have the desired effect; quite the contrary. It had the little elf standing at once. He grabbed his shirt, even stained and soaked, and put it on again._

"_No child. Do not do that. You cannot go anywhere as you are."_

_But these words were useless and the old lady could just admire the sudden strength of the boy, who took up his heavy backpack with a grimace of pain and hurried into the forest. She thought to stop him, but she had the strange feeling that everything she could have done for him she had already done. However, when the boy's face, now quite far into the woods, turned toward her, she felt her heart tighten, especially when he shyly lifted his left hand in a wave of thanks. He then walked further into the wood, which seemed so much bigger than him._

"_May the Good Ilúvatar protect you, my boy," she said, returning the gesture of farewell. "Remember the bark of the tree I showed you. You can find it in many places around here. Remember, little one!" she added loudly, and was satisfied to receive a small, tired smile in response, before that frail figure disappeared into the forest._

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><p>"I wanted to make him stay... Now I regret not having done it," she said, as she finished her report with a saddened voice. "I knew treating his injuries would be helpful, but now I realize that the main remedy for the pain of that child was not with me. I feel a relief to have met you, Elrond of Rivendell, for I perceive that this particular medication is in your hands."<p>

The breath of the Elf had accelerated again with every sentence of the tantalizing information she told, that, although painful, drew more hopeful scenery in his mind than he'd had before. He looked around again, checking the possible paths in the direction given by the lady.

"Do you precisely know when he left, my Lady?"

"He bravely continued his way with the round moon appearing through the clouds above his head. My heart lamented for him. I wish I had convinced him to stay until dawn. But he seemed to know well that he was being followed. He might be a boy, but he acts like a warrior who would make his father proud."

"I am proud of him..." Elrond said almost to himself, facing the same direction the Lady's eyes gazed. "I always have been..."

"Perhaps he might want to feel worthy of your pride..." the woman said, and Elrond stared at her for a moment, before the father's urge inside his heart moved him to go quickly to his horse once more.

"I owe a debt of gratitude to you, which I do not know how to pay. I will be at your service when and where you may need it, my lady. I am infinitely grateful for the help you offered to my son."

The woman smiled with sadness and emotion.

"Go, good father. Reach for your boy and ransom him from all the bad notions he has about himself. If you really think you have a debt with me, consider it repaid once you have found him. My heart will be at peace."

Elrond took a deep breath, but limited his answer to placing his hand on his chest and taking a quick bow. He then urged his equine friend to take the path his heart yearned to follow.

**A/N: This chapter was a bit long. So I decided to divide it in two parts. Hope you don't mind and enjoy reading both parts. I'm thinking about posting the second part next week. Please let me know if it's okay.**

**Again, thanks so much to all reviewers Pitybe, Silvan Shemesh, Lia Whyteleafe, Daisymall13, Evereven, melissamed. Many thanks to Puxinette, my kind beta.**


	13. Misadventures and Mismatches - Part 2

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XIII - Misadventures and Mismatches – Part II<strong>

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference._

Robert Frost

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><p>Elrohir let out a big sigh, as he climbed up a dusty hill. Just minutes after he realized he was lost, relief flooded him when he finally recognized his surroundings.<p>

Barrow Downs, he said to himself. He remembered Erestor's voice, and seeing his master standing proudly in front of the large map, fingers sliding slowly past this unimaginable way, while the pupils' eyes carefully followed as they listened to the explanation.

Elrohir loved his Geography lessons; they were his favorites. He liked to imagine those scenarios, and when the lessons were finished, he ran out of the library to draw those places as his master had precisely described them. The words created life as Erestor's voice echoed in his ears, and his fingers traced the paths on the paper.

Now the images of his drawings did more than come to life, he thought, when he reached the top of the smooth climb and looked around. All those hills surrounding this one were almost identical green clusters, with sharp stones sticking up, marring the scenery, but seeming to point to the gray sky. He moved his head in all directions. To the west the mounds were a little larger, but all reflected the same type of landscape.

The twin closed his eyes for a minute, then let his body fall into a sitting position on a patch of green grass, looking at the steep way down that awaited him. It would be much harder than the ascent he'd just made, and seeing it was not the best motivation for his too tired body. Since he'd left Bree he'd had no rest, stopping only to check the bandages on his arms. He was too scared to stop for long. He was still afraid, unable to quit moving, not even to eat.

He rose then with a groan of effort, trying to forget the pain and the feeling of loneliness that seemed to punish him harder as his energy became extinct. At each stop it took him longer to rise, as he found himself shamefully wishing not to continue, wanting to stay where he was, hoping someone would come to rescue him. Actually he had looked back more often than his proud heart would like to admit.

In those moments he felt even more divided... His mind was too confused and occasionally seemed to guide him to less nurturing thoughts, of letting himself stay in one place at the mercy of fate. Standing up and fighting to complete his mission did not motivate him as much as before, because he felt that, even if he did, even if he reached his ultimate goal and achieved his aim, he would not have courage to live with his family anymore. He would not feel worthy to be under the protective shadow of his father. He had embarrassed him so many times, only now realizing how many, only now realizing how stubborn he'd been. A pampered _elfling_, from whose irritating acts his patient father had sought relief. He was someone who still had to learn the exact meaning of the words _no_ and _patience_.

Yes, his father had been too patient. Maybe it was better for him to have his problematic son gone, away from Imladris. Elladan would certainly make him much more proud.

"_Ada...__"_ He clung to the figure of his father in his mind, and closed his eyes painfully, resting his hand on his chest, before continuing his difficult journey_.__ "__I'm __sorry...__"_

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><p>Elrond also traversed those lands, after unhappily dismounting so that he could better lead his horse down the difficult way. They descended the steep slope, slipping and sliding through one of the gaps between the hills. He sighed, leaving behind the sad feeling that the place awakened in him. The hills were used as burial places by the Edain of the First Age, before they entered Beleriand, and Elrond, being a lord of the healing arts as he was, had the bitter feeling that there would be more use of the land in the future for equally sad stories. He looked back, when the terrain allowed him to ride again, giving thanks that, at least this time, he would not be a witness to any such sad scenes.<p>

His mind was already full enough of other images, mostly sad ones, as his conscience whipped him ever more ruthlessly. Time was marching on, and his search was still fruitless.

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><p>The night may be dark, especially when you are alone, especially when you feel pain. Elrohir was alone and just that feeling of so many days of loneliness might have been enough for him to face the nightfall in the Old Forest with eyes of anguish. However, the pain in his arms, and his shoulders aching from the weight of his luggage, added even more sinister characteristics to that scenario than perhaps it actually had.<p>

The twin leaned against an old tree and looked up. Within the dense part of the forest the light was dim, and the rapid fall of the night veil charged him with urgent decisions. Make a fire or an improvised _talan_? _Elbereth_, he had no energy for any of those tasks, nor did he even know if he could climb that old tree with the weight on his back that seemed to become more pronounced each day.

Elrohir closed his eyes, resting his hand instinctively over the weapon stuck in his backpack. He felt the cold metal through the cloth; he felt its power growing each day, as if it consumed him, as if it stole his energy. Part of him knew that this was nonsense, that his sense of weakness was only due to his injuries and this arduous journey. Yet the other part of him could not help but fear the unknown power of the sword, especially after many sleepless nights, and he knew that it might be its influence that was weakening him as well.

The forest was full of sounds, especially in the dead of night. There were too many noises to get peaceful sleep all alone in the dark. There were too many sounds... Elrohir closed his eyes and leaned against the tree, letting his body fall slowly until he was sitting on the damp earth. Give up, give up... That idea permeated his inner monologue more times than he'd like it to do. The young elf again denied giving it more credence, as his body tried to refuse to be as useful as it once was. He let out a painful sigh, allowing himself to be invaded by the never-ending sounds, feeling the highs and lows of the forest; close, distant, allowing them to slowly fill his spirit. He imagined how it would feel if he gave up: nature would invade him slowly, and over time, all the many sounds would become a part of him, the grass would embrace him, and he would become a part of the hard trunk behind him. Everything, including him, would be just... the forest...

"Come on, you stupid animal!" The bass sound of a voice made him open his eyes immediately. He suddenly forgot all his fanciful ideas, as well as his aches, and quickly looked for a place to hide behind the tree.

"We should stay far from the road," another voice replied, equally serious, but a little rougher than the first. "If we set a fire here any wanderer would be able to see us. I do not like this region. It's full of the most unpleasant surprises."

"There are no wanderers," a third voice said, and it sounded as if its owner was in the same bad mood. "It's night, and everyone, even those less clever than us, have sought shelter and set up camp. We've taken too long; if we keep up this slow pace, we won't cross the river before the next moon."

"It's not my fault," the first one said again, his voice a bit closer. "This animal that you got me is the most useless creature that has ever served anyone."

"And you blame us? You have achieved the feat of letting your pony run away during the night!" grumbled the third one. "You do not even know how to properly tie your own mount."

"That's true." the second one laughed. "At least if this donkey runs away it would not be so fast."

"Shut up, Fesil," the first one warned in a tone used by few friends. "My mood is gone with the last rays of day."

Elrohir shrank back, closer against the tree, watching the three figures as they approached, pulling their mounts. They were short and husky, but very agile. Soon they tied their animals and one of them cleared a small space, then built a fire, the sticks brought to light with the first collision of two stones. Their faces then appeared, lit by the makeshift campfire.

They were of the _Gonnhorrim_. The masters of stones. Dwarves...Three of them. Elrohir looked at them carefully. In the dim light of the place, it was almost as if they were identical, except for the color of their shirts and long beards of different lengths. The one who pulled the donkey was a little fatter than the others and continued to mutter, looking at the animal with the same air of dissatisfaction. When he turned his head toward the fire again, his dark eyes moved in the direction of the twin.

"The _Gonnhorrim_ are a clever people, very knowledgeable of the arts of war," Erestor once said, before the picture of a very well-armed group of beings, whose long beards, even twisted, almost reached their waists.

Elrohir shuddered, even though he was ashamed of being afraid. They were a few inches shorter than he, but visibly stronger and more knowledgeable of the weapons they had. One was already sharpening an ax before the great fire, and it was the voice of this one that deflected the other from looking in the direction of the young elf.

"Can I just take a hare before full dark? I'm tired of this bread and jam."

"You should have thought of that before. You were slowing us down all day."

"I want to finish this damn day and go home. Next time, tell them to come and get their own miserable package.

"Of course! Enjoy your practicality and give them an accurate map of where our mine is located."

The other dwarf only growled in reply, rising and picking up a piece of wood to improvise a torch.

"Where are you going?"

"To hunt something; even worms are better than this hard and old bread."

"What an idiot! With such a light, exactly how close to what animal do you think you will come? Not even worms are so stupid."

The other grunted again, shaking his head after bending and lighting his torch. He then rose back up quickly and the light shone in a too dangerous direction. Elrohir shrank more against the tree trunk and held his breath, but he knew that luck was against him again. It didn't take long until he was facing three pairs of watchful eyes, whose hands were wielding their axes in a very unfriendly way. One of them was not even looking at him, moving his head in all directions, as if he was expecting an enemy to attack him from somewhere. Elrohir raised his head slowly, his back still stuck to the trunk behind him, while the dwarf in front of him had an expression of mistrust and misunderstanding on his face.

Elrohir pressed his jaws together; he didn't want to show fear, he wanted to remain firm even with the pain and weakness threatening to overwhelm him. The strangers looked at each other after a few moments, dismayed.

"Who are you?" asked the dwarf in the front, but his eyes did not look like someone who is faced with an enemy. Even the one who was watchful before now was looking at him with concerned eyes. Elrohir frowned but soon realized the reason for the treatment he was receiving. The injury on his left arm, the most serious one, was bleeding again.

The twin pressed his lips together, his dark eyes wary of the three strangers.

"I think he does not speak that language. Try another," said the last of them, the owner of the donkey.

"He is speaking in _Sindarin_. Every damn elf understands that language," the second said, irritated.

"Try _Quenya_," insisted the first. "You know a little... Maybe the little one speaks _Avarin_... Quenya they all learn."

Elrohir breathed slowly; the conversation, as well as the full knowledge of what could happen with these dwarves, was getting on his nerves. He felt fear rising in him. He should not allow this to happen, but he was so tired that his vision was darkened even more than the night itself already took care to do. This was all he needed, when his lack of energy seemed to prevent him from any maneuver. He closed his eyes, but re-opened them quickly, when he realized that the three dwarves were squatting before him with quite concerned expressions. Elrohir noticed he had slipped down the trunk of the tree and was sitting again.

"He does not look good," the dwarf in the back said. The trio exchanged glances with each other again before the one in the front looked back to the twin. However, when he lifted a hand toward Elrohir, the elf instinctively shrank back.

"We will not hurt you, boy," assured the other, who did not seem very pleased with the twin's cautious movement. "Do you not understand what I say?" he tried, without abandoning the common language.

Elrohir bit the corner of his lips, nervously. He knew the gravity of his situation, but he could not tempt fate. He then slowly moved his left hand, which was already stained with blood, toward his throat, making a brief movement that the dwarves seemed to understand, although it had awakened in them an undeniable curiosity.

"Does he not speak? Cannot he talk?" deduced the first with a grimace of confusion.

"All right. And since when is an elf dumb?" suspected the owner of the donkey.

He and the one at his side made other sounds of protest and discontent, before the one who had been called Fesil raised a palm to ask for silence. His eyes were fixed on the young elf, but his face was still concerned.

"Were you attacked, boy?" he asked, sounding like someone who was genuinely trying to understand the situation. When Elrohir took a deep breath again and just nodded, afraid, his attitude seemed to awaken a feeling of sympathy in the dwarf, who pressed his lips together, worried. "Far away?"

The young elf nodded his head once more, and the dwarf turned to his friends. They looked at each other again, and now even the owner of the donkey had traces of sympathy on his face.

"Were you lost from adults or did they die in the attack?" It was the last one who asked, receiving a brief nudge from the dwarf at his side, before realizing that he might have been too direct in his questioning.

The young elf's face paled drastically, only proving to them the truth they feared, so Fesil rose without waiting for a reply.

"Let's go to the fire. It is risky to stay here," he said, and he and his two friends moved their robust bodies. But the three stood side by side as they stared at what they considered a problem to be solved.

Elrohir looked back at them cautiously, but was glad to feel that those three people did not seem to have any malice toward him. He knew what to do. He had to get up and do the same thing he did when he met that old_Adan_lady: Leave as soon as possible. The problem was that he did not know if he would be able to repeat the feat. _Elbereth_, he was very tired.

"Can you get up, little boy?" Fesil asked, offering an outstretched hand to quickly realize that the young elf was trying to figure out what his answer would be. Elrohir stood up without help, but closed his eyes as he did it and leaned against the tree behind him. Fesil stood at his side, but did not touch him. He did not know how bad the boy was injured and did not want to arouse any more distress in him. Despite not having any appreciation for the beautiful people, he was sorry for this one. He knew the elves enough to know that this one was still very young. It was sad for the dwarf to see the little one hurt and ignore the circumstances of how he got that way. The other two were positioned right in front of him, as if they felt the boy would fall at any time, but Elrohir did not. He re-opened his eyes and breathed deeply; fighting the exhaustion he was feeling.

When Fesil moved his hand toward the fire, suggesting to the twin what he wanted him to do, Elrohir hesitated, pondering his choices. He never imagined how many crossroads he would face when he left his land.

"Come on, boy. No one will harm you. Let's go where there is more light." Fesil finally rested his hand on the elf's shoulder, and Elrohir found himself obeying slowly, counting the steps he took, managing pain and dizziness that the lack of energy was waking in him. He then knelt before the fire and Fesil's hands loosened the straps on his pack. Elrohir became aware of the movement and grabbed the straps himself. "Do not worry. I just want to take this heavy bundle so you can sit down, boy. There's nothing in it which interests us."

Elrohir looked down, ashamed by the offended tone he had awakened. They genuinely seemed willing to help him, but the man in the marsh also seemed quite ready to do that… He could not risk it, so he slowly dropped the baggage of his own accord, but kept it at his side, even when he sat down with difficulty.

The three dwarves seemed to have already become aware of why Elrohir had shown such caution, because their eyes were undeniably caught in the glare that escaped through his backpack. Elrohir closed his eyes, asking _Ilúvatar_ that the strangers' gazes were only of admiration or curiosity, not greed.

Fesil seemed to understand the fear of the young elf. Aware of the art of forging, he had already perceived by the shining metal and the size of the weapon, even wrapped and disguised as it was, that it was not any ordinary sword.

No. That should be the sword of a king. And if it was, who was this little boy?

"Whose weapon is that, boy? It is your father's?" he asked, and then raised both hands in submission as the young elf stood up suddenly, as if he looked for a way to escape.

In fact Elrohir would have fled, if the world had not spun as he rose and he had not fallen. He did not get hurt because Fesil caught him, and then nothing made much sense to Elrohir. He finally had no choice but to embrace the darkness, after many days without any rest.

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><p>Many miles away from there, Elladan crept into the stable of Rivendell. It was difficult to get out of the main house without being seen. Since the departure of Elrohir and his father, it seemed that everyone only had eyes for him. That was odd. His mother had managed to cleverly extricate herself from the excessive attention and questions, especially those from Glorfindel. However, with each passing day, the looks that both she and her eldest son were receiving were making things worse.<p>

Everyone's patience was expiring. It was felt in every corner of the place. Rivendell people were tolerant all the time, but ultimately, when they knew about the supposed departure, without a date of return, of the one that, against the rules, all the citizens still considered the lord of that land, the situation started to become unbearable.

Elladan did not blame those from whom he received questioning looks. He would also like to have someone to whom he could direct his questions. That's why he was attempting this desperate act. He could no longer wait, even trusting in his father as he did. His heart weighed on him every day, every sleepless night, every image of his brother he saw in the few moments he could sleep. He had to look for Elrohir; at least it was what his desperate spirit was screaming at him to do every second of every day.

As he approached the stables, he received a well-known greeting: The neighing of his mother's brown steed. He was a docile animal who was called Roquen, which in Quenya meant _horseman_. He and his brother never understood why their mother chose that name, and when they asked her, the response was only a simple smile.

Roquen was a gift from Celeborn; the Lord-elf had arrived one day in Rivendell riding him. The horse had a silver mane, its brightness reminding Celebrian of her father. Maybe that was the reason for the present. No one ever knew. But the animal did have the temperament of its former owner. He was gentle and peaceful, but invincible in anything anyone ever asked him to do.

Elladan rubbed its nose with a sad smile, hoping that his mother's good friend would turn out to be as successful in this mission as it had always been in its previous, though far less risky, ones.

"Hello, Roquen," he said mentally, opening the door of the stall and allowing the animal to emerge. "I must go find my _ada_ and Elrohir. I need help. You can come with me, can't you?"

The horse made a more subtle snort, as if indeed it had heard the question, and this yielding attitude made the older twin smile sadly. He turned to the stable door to lead his equine friend out, when he realized there was someone in the passage.

It was the shape of his mother.

Elladan shuddered, closing his eyes before he confirmed that vision. He had spent almost a moon trying to convince her that he could go back to sleep alone in his bedroom, and when he finally succeeded in being able to have a few moments without her worried look following his every movement, he had still not been efficient enough.

The twin then dropped his shoulders, very deflated by the ruin of his plan. The thought of abandoning his carefully calculated scheme and staying home, returning to the painful waiting, agonized him more than he thought himself capable of enduring. And now, with no way out, he didn't feel able even to find the energy to re-open his eyes and face the truth; a truth he had been trying to deny.

Rivendell was no longer his home. It was a prison. He and his mother shared a kind of condemnation, much worse than the period of suffering that came before the return of his brother.

Elladan felt his body tremble, and an immense desire overtook him to fall to the ground and never move in any direction until the stars had left the sky. However, when he finally found the strength and courage to look again at his mother, a fact caught his attention. Just as he had not, she had not brought any light to guide her way, even on a completely starless night. Her form was barely illuminated by the few lamps flickering in the courtyard.

The young elf hung his head in incomprehension, and, as if she had just been waiting for this, Celebrian took a few steps, moving closer to the door.

When she became visible in the light from the front of the barn, another detail surprised her son, softening his lips.

He could finally see that his mother was not wearing one of her beautiful dresses and coats; she wore tunic and trousers, as a warrior, and when she lowered the hood of the heavy cloak that covered her shoulders, her hair had been twisted and pinned at the top of her head.

Elladan took a step back, afraid, as he suddenly questioned the veracity of the image he saw, and the Lady-elf dropped the backpack she carried on one shoulder onto the ground, finally taking a few steps into the barn.

Being in total darkness, Elladan could barely see her face, which was mostly concealed in shadow. She approached and knelt before her son, placing both hands on his heaving chest.

The young elf had a moment of hesitation, but then covered his mother's face with both of his hands, as if seeking answers to the questions that he could not voice. He touched the lines of grief with urgency, and then was surprised to realize her face was wet and her expression worried.

Celebrian stayed in that position while her son wiped her cheeks. His careful ministrations took away the last vestiges of her mourning, but she knew it did not dull the series of questions he had that had moved her to kneel at his side.

They were out of time; soon dawn would make their escape impossible. She had spent sleepless nights reading and rereading her child's face, trying desperately to interpret his intentions. She did not know how the boy persisted, how she still persisted. She had never felt so divided in her life, but she knew one thing absolutely: she could not endure another day in this situation.

With these thoughts in her mind, she took her son's hands and placed on them two brief kisses.

"_El-nîn_," she said, and let the smile shine that was usually present on her face, as she recognized Elladan's confused expression. Her poor son; Elrond once revealed to her how he feared the willingness the eldest brother always had to help the youngest, whatever the cost. "I know the pain and affection that moves you, _ion-nîn_, as they are here in my heart too. Your father will give us the greatest rebuke of our lives, won't he?" she said, forcing a mischievous smile, just trying to erase the fear that froze the features of her child.

In response she received a hug whose energy she would never forget. A big hug, which eased all her uncertainties. They were a family and a family they would continue to be, whether they were all together or not, no matter what happened.

* * *

><p><strong>Again, thanks so much to all reviewers of chapter 12: <span>Pitybe, <span>Duilin, The Pearl Maiden, Lia Whyteleafe, Daisymall13, Evereven, melissamed. Many thanks to Puxinette, my kind beta.**


	14. Overcoming

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XIV – OVERCOMING <strong>

_Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point._ C.S. Lewis

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><p>If there was something Elrohir had always loved with all the force of his spirit it was the sound of a running stream. From the time he was very little, the sun shining in any puddle on the floor seemed to delight him. In his training trips with his group, he was always the first one to find water, as if he were a fish and needed its presence to breathe. Elrond had come to say once, that his son's affection seemed to be a kind of legacy of his grandmother's ring, <em>Nenya<em>.

Water had always been welcome to him, and so maybe it was that sound that was waking him up. However, it wasn't the mild sound of a stream that he heard, it was the sound of rocks being pounded hard by a strong water flow in total unrest. He raised his eyelids when he realized that his body shook and swayed in a strange way.

"Stop, Glosur! Stop! He's waking up," the young elf heard someone say, before the sound of heavy boots stomping on the ground startled him. Elrohir recognized the worried face of Fesil, even against the light. He felt as if he was on a sort of wooden frame with woven straw. He wanted to move his arms, but realized he was tied. "Easy, boy! Easy!"

Elrohir ignored the warning and did not wait for any further explanation, forcing his arms against his bonds, striving to get free.

"Fool of a boy! Do you want to open your wounds? Be still or I'll force you to stillness with my ax!"

Even the sound of Fesil's threat did not seem to restrain him at first. The twin struggled more, only then realizing that in fact the intensity of his pain increased considerably with the insistence of his movements. He concluded that there was truth in the dwarf's words. He stopped struggling. When he recovered from his fright and the grogginess of just waking up, he began to realize the seriousness of the situation in which he found himself. The dwarves had tied him to a stretcher, which was in turn tied to the front of the donkey's harness at one side. The other side of the stretcher was carried by a dwarf, whose name was not yet known to him.

He had been imprisoned. The obvious conclusion scared him, making his heart beat fast, taking all the color from his face. He looked around, unable to disguise the huge fear he was feeling. He had been training to be a warrior; he had already been through much since he had left his land. Why had, just at this moment, his spirit decided to remind him that, after all, he was just a child?

The dwarf twisted his mustache in frustration, then shook his head and dropped his shoulders with a loud sigh. Elrohir was afraid to ask the motivation behind the dwarf's actions.

"Listen, boy," said a voice coming from another dwarf, the owner of the donkey, who was getting off of his animal. The tone of his words was very impatient, like someone who doesn't have many friends. "You fainted from exhaustion, pain, cold, hunger and we do not know what else. So we brought you with us because we did not know what to do with you. We could not just leave you in a place like that. As you can imagine, we were unhappy with having to make such a decision. You are delaying our journey. If that donkey was already slow on its own, you can imagine the creeping step of the miserable creature with this litter tied to it. Worst of all is that we have to take turns carrying the other part of this cursed litter."

Elrohir pursed his lips, not knowing what he could deduce from those words, especially with the unquestionably annoyed tone of them. He shuddered again, and then took a deep breath, trying to calm down.

"Shut up, Glosur. Don't you see you are scaring the boy?" asked the third dwarf, who held the stretcher.

"I won't shut up! This is the worst trip I've ever had and this is not the end of it. I do not know if you noticed, but this is lowland of the _Baranduin_, the Golden-brown River. Do I need to say more? Do you know a place more open than these dammed plains? Can't we discuss it a little better among the hills? We were going at a reasonable pace until this brat woke up."

"No way! I've been wishing to stop to eat since before we crossed the damn river. Let's take the opportunity while the little one is awake and give him something to eat, too."

As the two friends argued about the situation, Fesil watched from afar, looking at the land, considering the concerns and the reasoning that had been brought up so far. He looked again at the twin, realizing that the young elf's attention was focused on him and there was much fear in his expression. The dwarf took a deep breath. He could not help feeling sorry for the boy. Who knew by what evils he had already been through, and now he had just awakened in the midst of the noisy group of dwarves, trapped and unable to communicate.

"We're not going to hurt you. Do you understand?" he said then, and sighed to see the boy swallow hard, but nod. However, the worried expression of the little elf made Fesil understand that he needed to give the boy more guarantees. He then pointed to his own pony, and there Elrohir saw what he was looking for. "Your luggage is with my gear. We just opened it to get another shirt for you; we did not touch anything else."

The twin opened his eyes to see the backpack, his gaze traveling along its length until he spied the image he needed to see. The sword was still attached to it, in the same place. A sense of relief relaxed his body.

"Glosur told the truth. We brought you because we have a deadline, and we did not know what else to do with you. We expected to see someone from your people on our journey, but it seems that the Old Forest is no longer a place of elves, not even the Silvan ones, at least we did not have such luck," Fesil completed, but this time he did not try to read any response in the face of the silent boy. He only sighed and turned to his friends. "We will camp under those bushes there. The trees and the little depression will hide us from the road. I'm also hungry."

Elrohir attempted to relax because, as the sounds of joy and pleasure came from the other dwarves, it was more than clear what they intended to do. He tried to calm down; he needed to focus, to regain strength to escape before they achieved their goal. Finding another elf was not exactly what would help, he thought, while the donkey and the dwarf took their litter in the direction proposed. As he pondered the situation, he tried to read the surrounding landscape.

Glosur had told the truth. These were the plains of the Baranduin. He remembered well Erestor's description and the drawings and paintings of the books. In the distance he could see the hills and the numerous rings and ridges around them. He closed his eyes for a while, since he was feeling strange. He did not know if it was because of the unpleasant jolt of the litter or because of his injuries. He would have thought that his time asleep might have helped the wounds on his arms to heal, but unfortunately it hadn't. He felt as if he'd been sleeping only a short while, but they had already gotten out of the Forest, and he knew that was a long way from where they had started.

When the donkey turned a little to the left, leaving the road, Elrohir had a better view of the way he still had to follow when he finally got free. The winding East Road... passing through the White Downs, the Far Downs... Reaching the _Emyn Beraid_ - the Tower Hills... the Gulf of Lune... and the sea... He closed his eyes, feeling a chill run up his arms. _Elbereth_, it was such a long way... Such a long way...

"Shh, stop making noise, Glosur. You will wake up the boy. Come on; go smoke your pipe somewhere else."

A sound of protest arose, but it was swallowed. And the thudding of heavy walking boots moving away on a sandy ground followed.

"But he needs to wake up, Fesil," another voice, in a cautious low tone said. "We cannot continue hauling him around as if he were part of the baggage. We have to find out who he is."

"I know."

"You know, but you do nothing. He has been sleeping since before we crossed the bridge. He even had a fever the other day, and he has eaten nothing so far. We've been riding with him on the stretcher for almost a week."

"Do not exaggerate; we still have two days until the week is finished. What would be the benefit of knowing who he is? It is better for him to sleep and not give us headaches. When we get to the Towers Hill, surely we will meet some of the elves there."

"We will have to, because I am not going to the Havens. We have already deviated from our route enough for my taste. We should have continued on the road."

"This path is shorter. We save a lot of time. A few more days and we will take the main road again."

The other dwarf snorted in dissatisfaction, and then he moved a bit away.

"You know what?" he said taking his canteen. "I'll see if I can get him to drink some water at least."

"Good. You've already succeeded the other times. Try again."

"I will... What I would like is for the poor one to eat something. He is visibly losing weight."

"He's not a pig for slaughter, Rognus. His weight doesn't matter. These elves recover quickly."

The other dwarf let out another sound of protest, then shook his head, sitting beside the litter and looking at the still sleeping boy.

"We could at least release him."

"No."

"Why, Fesil?"

"Because I say so. You can only do that to take care of his injuries, Rognus. We have already agreed. He may wake up and run away."

"I don't believe he would be able to even walk if he woke up, the poor boy."

"These elves are amazing; you have no idea. Take my word. I know this race. They almost seem able to be reborn from their ashes."

Rognus kept looking at his friend, even when his speech was over. Then he shook his head.

"And if he escapes?"

"He will not escape. He's tied."

"But if he does? What does it matter?"

Fesil did not answer, but merely rose, only to sit a little further away. He lit his pipe. His gaze, however, was lost, as if he pondered the answer to that particular question.

"He does not need to try to escape, does he, Fesil?" Rognus insisted, rising too, and crouching in front of his friend. "I do not understand. And if he wakes up and wants to leave? He is not our prisoner."

"Yes! It would be a blessing if he left," Glosur completed, joining the conversation as he walked back to sit by the fire. "So we would not need to extend our path as well."

"He is just a boy," Fesil finally answered. "He cannot walk alone. We have to leave him with someone who can be responsible for him."

"We have no obligation to take care of him," opposed Glosur immediately, almost angry with the comment. "We will not gain anything by doing it, will we?" he added. However, before the strange silence of the group leader, the other two dwarves looked at each other, noticing something that had not occurred to them.

"What do you have in mind, Fesil?" Rognus questioned almost immediately. "Do you think they'll give us a reward or something if we find his family or someone who knows him?"

Fesil shrugged, still looking at the horizon.

"Anything is possible."

Glosur looked at the boy with other eyes, then to the bag still tied on Fesil's pony.

"But if the goal is to win something, Fesil," he said, his eyes still stuck on the weapon that shone even still wrapped in its protective cover. "Wouldn't it be more beneficial if we..."

"He must be someone important." Fesil prevented his friend from revealing the sordid idea that had, indeed, occurred to them all. "That's why he has something of such value. I do not touch weapons that do not belong to me... especially that one. I don't know why, but there's something I do not like about it. However, if we find someone who knows the boy, he or she will surely reward us. He is the son of someone important, I'm sure, and the elves tend to be... generous... when they are well attended, and especially in regard to their offspring."

"Good... If they are not generous we can make them be," Glosur said then, but Rognus shot him an unhappy look at the same time.

"Can you not even see an elf without thinking about cutting his or her neck, Glosur?"

"They are not trustworthy. Nothing about this pleases me at all. We changed all our plans because of this boy, based on just a few prospects that may not materialize. After all, who can assure me that his father is not dead, back there somewhere?"

Elrohir, who was only pretending to be asleep, could not help the strange fear that shook his body with the dwarf's comment. Soon a calloused hand was on his forehead, but he continued his acting.

"Did he wake up?" Fesil asked as he got up from the ground with a start.

"I don't think so," Rognus said, by keeping an open palm on the boy's forehead for some time. "But he's still feverish. I'll see if I can make him drink some tea."

"Do not give him anything; let this unfortunate's body deal with it," Glosur said impatiently. "He is an elf. The blessed ones do not suffer when poisoned."

"I do not know if he is poisoned..." Rognus said thoughtfully. "The wound did not look like one made by an orc weapon."

"But robbers also endow their weapons with poison," Fesil recalled with an air of indignation. "If his caravan was plundered, it is likely that such injuries that result are poisoned." Rognus shook his head sadly, still keeping his hand on young elf's face.

"Maybe, but I think it has to do with fatigue, also lack of food, or perhaps the very extreme situation in which he has found himself. He's just a boy, a lost boy. He would need to sleep calmly in fact, not on this dammed journey we are imposing on his body. Even asleep I see him wincing with every sudden change of terrain. In addition, he needs to eat, too. Thus his body will have the strength to react to whatever is happening within it."

"We do not have to worry about him, too," Glosur muttered through clenched teeth. "This is just what we need. We've already done too much for him. He can wake up and eat or die at once. I don't care."

"Do not be cruel. The boy is not guilty. He trusted us."

"He trusted us... Had this brat any other option? He was bleeding, wounded, alone and unarmed, because I doubt he can lift that sword there. What alternative did he have, when we brought him closer to the fire? Run away?"

"Glosur is right," Fesil said, still staring at the pale face of the young elf. "Let his body and spirit deal with this evil for a time, whatever it is, so we have him under control. The less he is recovered, the better for us. If the weather continues in our favor it's only three more days until we get to the Towers Hill, at the pace we are going. Tomorrow, by the end of the afternoon, we will have achieved the Downs.

"I want to go back to the road," Rognus complained. "If we are so eager to find someone to take this boy off our hands, this is the best decision."

"The road does not guarantee us to find who we need. This path is full of bandits, and we are at a disadvantage with this extra weight and the valuable object we hold."

Rognus let out a muffled grunt, and then threw himself on the ground beside the litter. He could not say why, but he disagreed entirely with the attitude of the leader of his group.

It was for this reason that a few hours later, as soon as Fesil moved away to pick up more wood and Glosur was lost in his own snoring, the dwarf took a bowl of broth that was left on the fire, slightly lifted the litter on which the twin lay and pressed the still warm liquid to his lips.

"Come on, boy. Drink the soup before there is no more time. Come on. I still have to give you some more of that bad tea," he insisted, seeing the boy frown because of the discomfort of being awakened out of a very uneasy sleep. "Be a good boy, all right? You want to see your loved ones again, don't you; be free, able to walk without being stopped?" he insisted, and a small smile raised his lips when he saw the little elf's half-open eyes. The boy was still very weak and that effort seemed to be a great strain. "Yes." His smile widened at the sight of the prisoner's lips parting a little as he accepted the offered food, drinking the soup in small sips. "Drink it all, boy. You have to eat and be good."

Elrond's horse went down the gentle slopes of the long East Road without much difficulty. Its rider was spending every moment with his eyes sometimes fixed on the distant horizon, sometimes on the nearer small details. Since he left the Old Forest he could not find any more trace of his son, and it was creating in him a feeling of almost uncontrollable agony.

He had disappeared. Elrohir had simply disappeared.

How was that possible?

Elrond closed his eyes, trying not to listen to the words that his lucid mind and conscience offered him in answer to that last question.

No. He had not lost him... Elrohir was alive. He could feel it in his heart; he felt his son's presence; he felt the same affection they shared with all the elements.

No. Elrohir was alive.

Elrond breathed in, finally slowing the pace of the animal, to offer him and himself some water. He realized that he had passed a slight hill on which there was a small waterfall, springing from a gray stone. He dismounted only briefly near a birch and let his legs relax from the hard journey, while refilling his water bottles. He allowed his friend to quench its thirst as well.

After a while the animal nickered, noticing its owner's distant and sad look. Elrond offered him a brief smile, running his hand through its dark mane and resting his forehead against the neck of the horse for a moment.

"Oh, Durion, of all the works in which I could have failed in my life, this would be the most unforgivable of them all. I need to find my boy, or nothing else I ever do on this earth will have any meaning."

The horse nickered again and Elrond let both arms embrace the loyal creature. He had not stopped for two days, not even to eat, and he realized that his good friend, despite being among the strongest horses that he had had the opportunity to have at his service, was tired out. And so was he.

The healer's eyes moved up the path before him. The road would make a few more twists, up hills and other lazy banks of loose ground, before converting into a track among taller trees.

The evening had already transformed everything into a near-perfect dark a few hours ago.

No. It would be unwise to continue down a path so full of mysteries. At least not until the sun returned to the sky.

A new day; it was what he needed; a new day and, if the good _Ilúvatar_ would help him, a new hope.

When Elrohir woke up he recognized the swing of his litter. He was still on the journey. He ventured then to open his eyes a few inches, just to try to figure out where he was. His body ached more every day, perhaps due to the position in which he found himself constantly, or the absence of any exercise, or perhaps it was a result of the strange fever he had.

His arms were still injured. He could feel the pain under the bandages. He was recovering too slowly and this was not a good sign. His heart was already afflicted by the situation he was in and not having a specific notion of who these little people were, who kept him prisoner, did not help him either.

This was the worst part of the problem. Rognus had been cordial several times, giving him medicine, water and food when the others were not watching. He even let him free from the bonds whenever he could. However, the fact that the dwarf continued to offer such help only in times of absence of his companions, and insisted that he always pretend to be asleep in their presence was a concern. Elrohir heeded the advice, wondering about Rognus' motives, but not effectively reaching any conclusion.

The twin opened his eyes slightly to see that it was Rognus who was carrying the litter now. He ventured to at least try to recognize the way they followed. They were in an open land. Where could they be? It was a less steep way, but it began to decline softly, heading west. Elrohir finally discovered where he was.

They were in the Downs. The White Downs.

The dwarves' trail led slowly to the south of the highest hills, turning increasingly toward the sunset. In addition to the Downs, some strange lands could be seen, without any trace of housing. They were lowlands, covered with very green grass, where an unexplainable aura seemed to prevail.

Elrohir blinked a few times; he could not stop looking at the landscape. The day was cold, but those lands seemed to emanate a pleasant feeling of warmth... something to do with... freedom...

And freedom came in the least expected way. After what felt like only a brief sleep, he realized that it might not have been as brief as he thought. Elrohir awoke with a sudden jolt of his liter, and then it fell to the ground, the wary face of Rognus appearing before him.

"Run, boy!" were his words, before he quickly cut the ropes that bound Elrohir, and the dwarf pushed him to leave without any explanation.

In fact, further clarification became completely unnecessary, especially when the twin realized to where the dwarf ran. A few meters away, the small group was being attacked by an assemblage with almost three times more members. Abominable beings the twin knew well.

"Orcs."

There was no hesitation. And any harm that might be plaguing the young elf, suddenly appeared to be of almost no importance, because Elrohir immediately stood upright, and even to his own surprise, he ignored Rognus' advice and threw himself into the unequal battle with the resolution of the great warrior he would someday become.

The dwarves could not believe what they saw.

And neither could the orcs...

"So he did not have the strength to lift that sword!" Glosur spat wryly with his back against Fesil's. "Never say anything to me about elves again, nothing at all!"

"I told you he was not just any elf," muttered the other, equally amazed by the scene he witnessed from the corner of his eye, while he and his friend were fighting their personal battles, trying to contain the six creatures that shouted and railed against them.

The first enemy to know the value of the weapon that Elrohir had reforged did not even know what hit him. He, along with four other orcs, was too busy trying to defeat a deranged dwarf who simply did not want to cooperate. Rognus saw the head of one of his attackers fly off its body, exactly when the enemy's sword came toward his chest. He even had a moment to admire the unexpected pointed-ear figure that emerged from behind the orc when it fell, but soon there was no time for anything else. The enemies were so many that they seemed to be multiplying.

Elrohir did not seem concerned with judging his companions' battle capacities, nor did he even think about his own efforts and pains. He just turned the long and heavy sword with surprising dexterity, severing limbs and creating images that, for sure, would not be pleasant memories in the future. When the cry of Glosur reached his ears, Elrohir's swing of the blade brought his last enemy to the ground as the head of the orc who threatened the dwarf rolled several feet away.

At the end of the battle, there were four exhausted warriors surrounded by an impressive array of enemies' bodies. The three dwarves finally looked at each other, after ensuring that the danger had passed. Glosur had a large cut on his arm, which he held with a look of pain. Rognus did not seem hurt, but was the most exhausted of them. He was bent at the waist, his hands on his knees. Fesil seemed to be less physically shaken, and was also the only one who didn't immediately drop his ax, still looking around like a cornered dog. It took some time before he finished his inspection, only to join Rognus who was helping their wounded friend.

"Cursed and disgusting creatures!" he panted, as he stood gazing at the pile of bodies around him. The number of them was so great that even fallen and motionless, it was difficult to count them. It was hard to believe that the dwarves had been able to beat them with the disparity in their numbers. In fact, they would not have been as successful with as minimal physical damage without the unexpected help of the elf. Only now was the incredible image of the elf-boy, brandishing a sword almost of his own size, able to arouse the astounding feeling they should have had all along.

"Where is he?" The surprised voice of Rognus brought Fesil back from his thoughts, and he turned to look at his concerned friend, who was scanning the area around them. The leader did the same, slowly realizing the reason for the blunt question. The small and seemingly fragile elf boy, wounded, carrying a huge and heavy weapon, had disappeared.

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><p><strong>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers <span>Evereven, eliza61, Lia Whyteleafe, melissamed, The Pearl Maiden, Duilin, SilvanShemesh, Pitybe. <span>Many thanks to Puxinette, my kind and patient beta.**


	15. Memories

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XIV – MEMORIES<strong>

_The past is never dead, it is not even past_.

William Faulkner

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><p>While brave Elrohir tried at any cost to continue his journey, armed only with the sword blackened with his enemy's blood, Roquen showed his owner the value of the gift she had received from her father. He crossed obstacles that not even the strong steed of the Lord of Imladris was able to overcome, but never seemed to lose any speed. Celebrian's thin fingers were entwined in the silver mane, while she felt Elladan's hands on her waist. Occasionally she would jest with her son, just to make him smile. The twins' vow of silence bothered her most during this hard time through which they were living, so she teased him whenever she could, not only because it was delightful to see him smile, but also because, in doing so, she was sometimes actually able to coax a sound from him.<p>

Now they crossed the Midgewater Marshes, going through fog and clouds of insects, huddled beneath their heavy cloaks. Their course was hurried and decided, preventing them from seeing the sad image that the dark scenery around them hid. Once again the body of Elrohir's attacker, the first victim of the sword reforged by the next warrior's hands, had been left behind without any attention.

They had been riding for three days without any rest, so Celebrian decided to stop under some friendly trees of the Old Forest. They were tired, but still Elladan was willing to make a fire without his mother even asking him to. The lady-elf was more impressed every day with the dexterity of her firstborn. It was a shame she needed these difficult circumstances to observe her child's skills. She turned to take their luggage from the horse's back and used the moment to try to read the signs of the forest.

It was almost dark and the coppery leaves of the winter onset were gradually losing their tone, as the sun deprived them of its last rays. Celebrian sighed, her gaze lost in the landscape of various colors. She remembered that it was in a place like this that she had seen Elrond for the first time.

After Eriador was freed from the enemy attack, her mother, who had been apart from her father because Celeborn was involved in major conflicts, longed for the sea and decided to move westward. She took her daughter with her; they went back through Moria and travelled to Imladris, seeking Celeborn. It was Elrond who had come to receive their delegation. He was an Elf-lord dressed as a warrior, so quiet and dignified on his black horse that Celebrian had to ask herself whether he was actually real or just an image of her dreams.

Elbereth, he was the most intriguing of all the elves that she had seen, and she had to struggle very hard not to show what her suddenly wildly beating heart was making her feel. There was something about him, something inexplicably magical that made her want to read all the lines of his face, discover all of his pains, all of his secrets, all of his desires. At first she tried to compose herself, but her eyes momentarily returned to betray her, disobediently taking in the sight of that mysterious knight.

The lady-elf smiled, remembering that she was so delighted that she could barely greet her father, who she had not seen for a very long while. However, the lord of Rivendell limited himself to offering her a gentle but distant greeting when they were presented, which saddened her more than she cared to admit at the time. Later, however, Elrond assured her that the feeling she held for him was mutual, and it had only been discretion and fear of any offense or misunderstanding which caused him to hide his feelings.

Celebrian raised her right hand, instinctively touching the brooch she used to keep the cloak on her back. It was the symbol of Rivendell, a land of which neither Elrond nor she were masters any longer. Much had changed and she could only mourn what had to be left behind, feeling the loss, but looking for, as she always did, the direction determined by her heart.

She sighed. The forest darkened quickly and she was still undecided whether to stay on the ground or improvise a _talan_ in one of the trees. Everything seemed to be indecision in the last days of their journey, as the few signs they had found seemed to be indicative of almost nothing. She turned, thinking of asking her son's opinion, but when she sought for him, she frowned. The boy was not in the small clearing in which they decided to camp.

"Elladan?" she called, first softly, then louder. "Elladan?"

The absence of any response made Celebrian freeze, forcing her to draw her sword immediately, going a few more steps into the clearing with attentive eyes, her heart beating fast.

"Elladan! Elladan!" she called, and was about to go into the forest when her son's figure emerged from behind an old oak tree, stealing an audible sigh of relief from her. "Elladan! Where, by Varda and all the stars in the sky, were you, elfling? How dare you just disappear without telling me? Where did you go? Do you want to stop my heart?" She burst into an agonized tone, even with the sword held high. Realizing that the boy was carrying his bow, she worried more. "Why are you armed? What happened?"

Elladan's eyes rounded at his mother's stern tone. He stayed frozen where he was for a few minutes, having never received such a warning from her before. Actually he had never heard her use that tone with anyone in his life. He then raised the prey he had just killed in the woods. He had seen the hare dart through the brush and had hastened to seek a way to get it. He hadn't realized that his mother had not seen him go.

Celebrian looked at the animal, her son's arrow still stuck in it, and then she turned her gaze to the boy, whose face now had an air of apology and regret. After a few moments more, her very worried heart finally understood the situation. She dropped both arms, the sword still in her right hand.

"Oh, _El-nîn_... Do not disappear that way unless I see where you're going, alright?" she said, and her natural tone made the child relax a bit, also relieved. He approached with an apology etched on his face, and Celebrian stroked his hair gently, trying to make up for her outburst with a familiar motherly smile. "So, are we having some meat today, my little hunter?" she asked teasingly.

Elladan smiled shyly, then held the prey out to his mother who gladly accepted it, dropping the sword and then pulling the knife she carried from her boot. They sat before the fire and the lady-elf began to prepare the dinner they would have. As she did it, however, her eyes moved several times to her son. The young elf continued to do what he had been doing since they left Rivendell at any opportunity of quiet he had; he was now trying to focus on something his mother didn't understand totally. Celebrian wondered for what her son's instincts searched. At first she had thought the boy was trying to capture any sound in the distance, but then she began to suspect that Elladan sought for his brother in only a way known by him.

They were twins and had a bond that sometimes seemed hard to understand, even to Elrond, who also had a twin brother.

Soon, however, the boy's eyes were lost and on his face there was an explicit disappointment of another failed attempt.

Celebrian sighed with her child's sadness. Although they were making the journey in almost a third of the time a caravan would have taken, she understood the boy's extreme concern. They were caught up in a game with incalculable risks, risks that she did not even want to think about, but that seemed to haunt her worried firstborn every day. She pressed her lips together, thinking of how she might comfort the boy, since she also had a very tight heart in her own chest.

"Shall I tell you a story?" she asked, trying to rescue her son from the painful thoughts that seemed to imprison him.

Elladan lifted his sad eyes, but nodded briefly, although he didn't seem very excited to hear any story. Celebrian smiled, raising her eyebrows to simulate an air of mystery.

"This is a very special story, did you know? It is a true story about you and your brother that we never tell anyone. Only your father, Idhrenniel and I know it," she said, and her smile widened when he saw her child frown in sudden interest. "Very well then, there is a fact which everyone in Rivendell believes, but that is not true," she began. "Everybody thinks that the only people whom your brother and you were never able to deceive were your father and me."

This time, Elladan frowned even more, his head bending to one side as if he didn't understand what his mother was talking about.

"It's true, elfling. No one can distinguish you, one from the other. In Imladris I do not think there is anyone who has not already confused you with your brother. Isn't that true?"

Elladan nodded, still not getting it.

"Well, once your father and I were also deceived by you two. Do you want to know how?"

The twin's face was taken by a mixed expression of disbelief and distrust; never had their parents had any doubt about them, and Elrohir had tried many times to deceive them. Even during their vow of silence, except when their mother saw him from afar occupying Elrohir's place in training camp, neither she nor their father ever had any trouble telling them apart.

"Do you want to hear?" she insisted, and finally Elladan nodded his head, unable to hide the curiosity that the strange tale aroused in him.

Celebrian smiled in a satisfied way and took a deep breath, her eyes already focused on some scenes of a distant past...

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><p><em>The rhythmic knock on the door of the office awakened Elrond from his reverie. He had maps and other papers of interest to evaluate, concerning some materials brought by a caravan, which had been visiting them for a time. However, nothing that day was able to hold his attention, and he could not say for sure why.<em>

"_Please, come in," he said, his eyes still fixed on those ideas and images._

_And the real reason for his state of mind, the one which was preoccupying him for longer than any other idea had, came up from behind that big door of carved wood._

"_Hello, Lord of the Important Issues." A sweet voice that had moved his world for over a century sounded, before a very round belly hidden in a flowered dress emerged from behind the door. "Can I interrupt for a moment?"_

_Elrond rose with a smile, but didn't move to meet his wife. From where he was standing, he had a privilege which he had never dreamed to have at all: seeing Celebrian, even more beautiful than she always was, carrying the child they had conceived and for whom they waited with intense anticipation._

_And the image did what it had been doing since that belly started to gain the form of motherhood._

_It left him speechless..._

"_Elrond, may I come in?" the lady elf asked then, confused by the silence and the contemplative look her husband was giving her. She smiled when she noticed him raise his eyebrows as if he woke from a pleasant dream._

"_You are already in, my love," he said, posing his hand over his heart. "In here."_

_Celebrian's smile turned into a lovely laugh and she shook her head._

"_You are incorrigible," she joked, approaching in her long gown. Elrond walked around the desk to meet her._

"_And in love, always." He took his cue from the playfulness in her tone._

"_For this I give thanks to Ilúvatar, always." Celebrian completed, nestling in her husband's arms._

_They stayed that way for a moment in silence, until she moved away a little and the Elf-lord pointed to a place on the couch._

"_Are you too busy, my dear? I did not want to take you away from anything important."_

_Elrond just shook his head, holding her hand to offer balance as she sat with her extra weight._

"_You both are at the top of any list of priorities that I have," he patiently said, sitting beside his wife. "How do you feel?"_

"_Well. Our elfling is not so bent on frolicking today," she said in an unusual tone. She generally joked with her husband, often saying that since the baby had discovered that he could move inside her, it seemed that's all he wanted to do. "He's so quiet I'm getting suspicious."_

_Elrond frowned at the comment, putting his hand on his wife's womb. _

"_Why do you say that, Star of mine? Does anything feel different?"_

"_Yes. Yes," she said, quite serious now, and Elrond grew pale._

"_What do you mean? Are you actually feeling something, my Star?" He moved a bit closer, concentrating his gifts as a healer into the hands that touched his wife's entire belly. Celebrian kept the mask of seriousness in place at first, just to provoke her husband, but then she smiled._

"_I think our elfling wishes to sleep in my arms tonight," She observed and waited in silence, as she realized her husband kept performing his usual healer checks, as if he had not heard. A few moments later he finally understood the meaning of her statement._

"_What do you mean, my love? Are you saying that the baby will be born today?" Elrond asked incredulously, and his wife's slight nod threw him into a state of extreme confusion. It was not possible. The expected period was not even close to completion. There was still almost a season to the exact date. "Star, we are still quite far from the end of spring."_

"_I know," Celebrian patiently said, sliding her hands over her huge belly. "But does he know that?"_

_Elrond gave a muffled sigh, and then shook his head, his hands next to his wife's, repeating the same check again. Nothing seemed wrong; there were no indications that the event mentioned was in fact going to happen today. If the baby were going to born, Elrond would feel it from him. He already knew it was a boy, and he would know his son was going to born, not only as a father, but also as a healer. He had received many children into his hands; he was experienced; he could not be wrong about this._

"_You must be mistaken, my love. Your parents are not here. Do you remember they said they would come a time before the birth?"_

"_Yes, I do," Celebrian thoughtfully replied, still caressing her belly, then she chuckled. "They'll be very disappointed."_

_Elrond pressed his lips together, unable to match the good spirits with which his wife had replied to his question. He was tremendously uncomfortable with the ease with which she treated the subject. His clinical gaze then left his wife's belly to analyze her face. It occurred to him now that Celebrian could be confused, perhaps due to her state, or maybe the distance from her parents, whose visits were far less frequent that she would like. Maybe he had not been offering her the necessary attention lately, and so she was creating this illusion as a kind of safety valve or, unconsciously, a way to get more attention from her husband "What do you think of taking a walk in the garden?" he offered then, analyzing the reaction that his proposal would awaken. "Perhaps being outdoors will diminish this feeling, and you will realize that this is only a hasty impression."_

_Celebrian raised her thin blond eyebrows, still caressing her belly, and then shrugged._

"_Walking beside you in the garden has always been one of my favorite pastimes," she said, still not looking up. She seemed lost in her own thoughts._

"_So?" Elrond raised her chin, so that she would look at him. "There's still time to put our son in the cradle that we will have for him, isn't there?"_

_The answer to that question, however, was not the one expected by the healer; quite the contrary. It came as the same little smile his wife occasionally gave him, the meaning of which Elrond had never learned to decipher accurately._

"_Who knows..." Celebrian finally said, not sounding very convincing. "All this elfling does is fool me, ever since he learned to use his little foot to kick my ribs. So anything is possible." But her husband did not smile. Not even hearing her soothing voice lessened his worry. His attention returned to her womb._

_Elrond took a deep breath. He tried to focus on the mother and not the child, but found he could not. This baby was the strongest one he had ever seen. Everything about him radiated a strange perfection. Everything about him was power, and energy. Even Idhrenniel had proved to be confused about the feelings she had about the child. The fact that Galadriel and Celeborn insisted on being present at the time of birth was also intriguing._

"_Will you call Idhrenniel, hervenn-nîn?" The voice of his wife awakened him, and he looked at her again._

"_When? At the time of birth?"_

"_Yes, my dear."_

"_Certainly, my love. Idhrenniel is also very experienced in this same area, and you expressed your desire to have her at your side, didn't you, Star?"_

"_Yes, I did." Celebrian offered another angelic smile that Elrond did not understand, then raised her eyebrows. "So?"_

"_So?" Elrond repeated, confused._

"_Shall we go?"_

"_Where, Star? To the garden?"_

"_The garden would not be an appropriate place for our son come into the world, would it, meleth-nîn?"_

_That new comment took Elrond by surprise and, even jokingly, the words brought a look of agony to the healer, who did not understand his wife's still unexplained insistence. He took a few seconds to regain control. Then he looked at the hand he rested on his wife's womb, even more confused._

"_Star, it cannot be today," he said, trying to remain calm._

"_Do not say this to me, my dear."_

_And finally the remains of the Elf-lord's patience ended. The anxiety Elrond had tried to disguise came forth as frustration. He shook his head and looked at his wife as a father who sees a naughty child._

"_Star of mine, Star of my life. If this is a joke that you're trying to play on me, I ask you kindly to put an end to it now. I'm at my limit, my love."_

_This time Celebrian did not smile, but did not seem bothered by her husband's accusing tone. Only now she realized that the anguish and incomprehension she saw in Elrond's eyes was genuine. She twisted her lips and her next response was not tempered by humor or jest._

"_The baby will come into our world today. As a mother I can only know he will come. Maybe you should stop thinking about the issue as a healer and analyze it as a father. Any elf would believe his wife if she told him what I'm telling you now."_

_Elrond grew silent, shocked by the sincere comment from his wife. He didn't know how much his doubt hurt her, because her tone did not change, and as soon she finished the sentence, she offered him the same reassuring smile she'd been offering all along._

"_He's our baby, meleth-nîn. He will be in your arms today. Aren't you happy about this?"_

_The healer tried, but a feeling of disbelief persisted on his face, so all he could do was shake his head again, as if he asked himself, "Why does Celebrian keep insisting in this? Could he be so wrong? And if so, how? Why would the baby be born earlier than expected, violating all the rules? Why this child? Why his son?_

"_Elrond?" Celebrian put her hand on her husband's face and he looked at her for a moment, then shook his head harder, still looking unhappy._

"_By the Valar, Star of mine! Do you think I should change my occupation?" he asked with a strong sigh._

"_What do you mean?"_

_Elrond tried to respond immediately, but he could not find the right words. He eventually dropped his shoulders, a sign of giving up._

"_I... I feel nothing..." he finally admitted. "I do not understand... How is this possible? I do not feel that the baby will be born today."_

"_Maybe it's because there are no forces moving him to do so, and he is willing to come into the world of his own desire and at his own time," Celebrian theorized with a natural smile, about what would be natural, if it did not go against a set of rules that Elrond knew by heart._

"_That makes no sense, Star."_

"_Why not? We are still far from the due date, aren't we?"_

"_Yes, we are. With the time that we have been through thus far, he will be born as if he were a Númenórean and not an Eldar."_

"_But he is half Adan; you know this. And he will continue being one at least until he chooses otherwise, as you did, right?"_

"_Yes... but..." Elrond agreed, while seeking an explanation to convince himself of a better theory than that. "With us it was not so... With Elros and me..."_

"_Maybe it is because you were twins and not just one very strong baby, as our son here is," she said. With the silence of her husband, she took a deep breath, seemingly deciding to drop this conversation. Then she threw her body forward, as if to rise._

_Elrond helped her get up, still very intrigued by this strangeness against which his countless years of experience seemed to be useless. Soon his wife's hand was caressing his face, and he saw himself mirrored in a hopeful and confident pair of blue eyes._

"_Come on, hervenn-nîn. Today we will be Ada and Nana for someone in this beautiful land that you created and protected. Today we will be a complete family."_

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><p>"And it was in this way your brother and you deceived us. I think that was the biggest prank you ever played, wasn't it?" Celebrian completed with a grin before her astonished elder son.<p>

Elladan had his mouth wide open in amazement and surprise, and so he stayed, until his mother put her index finger under his chin forcing him to close it.

"So, did you like this story? It was our secret, but as I told you, I authorize you to tell it to your brother when we find him, but only to him, all right? Your father would be very embarrassed to have to admit he was wrong in a so absurd a way as a diagnosis like this, not to mention another much more important detail. Idhrenniel also spent days in trying to understand what finally happened. She was so astonished when she saw the two of you that she said that you were indeed one and had split in two just to be born." The Lady-elf then laughed so convincingly that it virtually forced her son to laugh with her.

Elladan continued to smile, feeling a delicious satisfaction of having heard the story of his own life, which until then had been secret. Why had his parents never told them this story before?

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><p>The answer to that question was many miles away. The final detail of the story, which Celebrian purposely did not tell her son, would remain untold. However, it was this detail that had always bothered a certain father's heart, especially now, when he had arrived, very upset, almost to the end of his journey, without having found any trace of his child.<p>

Elrond's horse stopped when the road reached the summit of the Tower Hills. To the west was one of the most beautiful sights, but unfortunately for him, it was the most terrible of nightmares: the waters of the Gulf of Lune, clearly visible on the horizon.

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><p><strong>I'd like to give thank to all reviewers who are still with me: <span>Pipilo, Lia Whyteleafe<span>, eliza61, melissamed, Duilin, janelover1, Evereven, The Pearl Maiden, SilvanShemesh, Pitybe. Hope you have appreciated this chapter. Many thanks again to Puxinette, my kind and patient beta.**


	16. The People in the Havens

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XVI - THE PEOPLE OF HAVENS<strong>

_"The major navigators owe their reputation to storms and tempests."_

Epicurus

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><p>From afar the Gulf of Lune was blue as a sapphire, a mirror of crystal clear waters reflecting the sky above in one of the most magnificent landscapes of Middle-earth. It widely broke the rocky mountain west of Eriador, in green margins which had got such silhouettes in the first sounds of the Second Age, after the waters had invaded and covered lands which will never be forgotten.<p>

_Beleriand_ had been submerged, the War of Wrath came to an end, the Blue Mountains had been split in half, the river had lost its way and the water had occupied its new natural home.

Then a large bay came into view, in which the eyes of the Eldar people finally saw more hope than the unexpected transformation had given them. So, from their hands emerged, on each side of two local banks, _Forlond_ and _Harlond_, shelters for many ships.

A real city was built, with high vaulted towers, lighthouses and constructions on both sides of the natural recess. This exquisite architectural collection would be the last vision of Middle-earth to the members of the beautiful people, when the desire to leave, to cross the ocean, overcame all others.

_Mithlond_, they called it. The Grey Havens.

From the top of the nearer hill, the impression of ones who came from the White Towers to the east was that the Havens seemed a golden city. The sun sometimes fondly caressed it, blessing the place with an image desirable to the travelers' tired eyes, eager to see the end of an arduous journey.

To Elrond, sadly, that idyllic vision contained no peace, so the Elf-lord went the way slowly down the hill, with the heavy heart of a prisoner who is led to the place of his execution.

He stopped his horse a few meters from the main gate, just before the last slope of the road. No matter how beautiful the landscape, the past was stronger, and the vision of this place and how it had been then, where once there was a land that had been much loved, still weighed on his heart.

The Elf-lord contemplated thoughtfully the last meters of the path he had to take, then he sighed, offered a slight pat to Durion, his faithful companion, and asked him to continue.

He was almost at the large and imposing gates of the city when an elf appeared, looking at the newcomer with narrowed eyes. As chief of the local guard, he had already seen Elrond and probably recognized him as well, so the reason for his scrutiny was certainly something else.

"Lord Elrond? What has happened, my lord?"

Elrond had also recognized the face of Eilafion, an auburn-haired Teleri and an elf of proud bearing, at whose side he had fought for many years in the past. Elrond dismounted, bowing briefly.

"I pray that the years have not created between us a reason which makes such formal treatment necessary, _mellon-nîn_," Elrond said sadly, his hand resting on his chest.

Eilafion's lips parted, as if he were going to speak. He was too worried by the image he saw to be slighted by Elrond's small provocation. It was true he had known the dark-haired elf for a very long time, even before Elrond was the vice-regent of Eriador. In fact he knew him well enough to renounce any formality, as the good elf had always asked him, but fighting that bad habit was the last thing on which he wanted to devote his time at the present. Eilafion approached then, when he realized Elrond seemed to have no intention of coming closer.

"Be welcome, sir. Come with me, please, he proposed. "I'll send Lord Círdan word that you are here."

Elrond sighed, his eyes still exploring that well-known land looking for an image he no longer thought to see.

"Eilafion ..." he said, his tone that of an exhausted soldier, who is still unwilling to believe that a battle has ended. "By any chance has a visitor passed through these gates in the last weeks?"

The elf pressed his lips together, still extremely uncomfortable with the sadness and distress he saw on his friend's face. He stepped closer to him.

"Were you in a group which was attacked, sir? Are you hurt?"

Elrond finally looked at him, a patient smile on his face.

"My condition is due only to an almost uninterrupted long journey, my good friend," he said, turning repeatedly to search the area around him. "I would appreciate it if you could give me the information I asked for."

Eilafion still hesitated to believe the words he heard, but then sighed.

"Only residents and local traders have crossed the gates since the season's end. The anticipated cold seems to be keeping visitors outside, even here, where it doesn't get so cool," he answered. Eilafion became concerned again when noticed the lines that that information had drawn on the Elf-lord's face. "What has happened, sir? You know that I owe you my life. I will help you, whatever the circumstances."

Elrond closed his eyes, moved by the words of devotion. For him those times of war, and everything that he had found it necessary to do at the time, had been in the past, at least until now. Knowing that his friend still judged himself somehow indebted bothered him at that moment more than it had done before.

Eilafion's hand took his shoulder then, and it was as if he were touching his soul.

"My son is missing," Elrond found himself saying. All of his worry and concern could no longer fit inside his heart; it wanted to be free.

"Your son?"

"It's a long story. I have information that he might come here."

"Can you describe him, sir?"

Elrond rubbed his face with his right hand, trying to hide the frustration that losing so much time with this unproductive discourse made him feel.

"He does not reach the height of my chest. His hair is like mine."

Eilafion felt his jaw drop.

"He is a child yet?" He couldn't control the surprised tone of his inquiry. Elrond only nodded, seeming to have anticipated such a reaction. "For _Varda_, my lord! Is he alone?"

"I'm afraid so... Actually I do not know... I have been following his trail for quite some time. I knew he was injured, but since I crossed the Old Forest I have lost all trace of him and cannot find any clue to calm my heart."

Eilafion's hand covered his lips, as if to prevent himself from uttering a sound of desperation. Then his gaze turned outward, as if he were unsure about what step to take. Elrond ran his hand over his face again, barely able to contain his anguish.

"Let's go inside, Lord Elrond," the other elf decided quickly. At the moment Eilafion felt unable to investigate the reasons for such a desperate situation, but he was willing to try to do something about it. "Even if he has not crossed this gate he may have entered otherwise. He's still a boy; he may have gone unnoticed. There are many children in Elvish ports and..." He continued speaking as he pulled the Elf-lord subtly by the arm. His warrior's instincts took over, and he began to analyze the possibilities, scouring his mental map of the place as only he could do.

Only after a few steps, Elrond, who until then had followed carefully the hopeful viewpoint of the old soldier, realized what he was going to have to do and stopped immediately. Eilafion was confused.

"No... I… I cannot go, my dear friend," Elrond said, spilling that truth, but feeling suddenly empty for admitting it. When the other elf frowned in incomprehension, Elrond pressed his lips together. "My son and I are bound to a diplomatic impasse. While I am not able to solve it... I cannot enter any elven kingdom. Actually I cannot even be asking any help of you without compromising you and..." He tried to continue, but could force nothing else through his lips. He was already tied again with much larger concerns, which seemed to be piling up in a too heavy stack. He covered the left side of his face with his hand in apparent despair.

Eilafion's hand rested on Elrond's shoulder again.

"You are among the most honorable people I have known, sir," he said with intense earnestness, and Elrond just lowered his head. "I would never cease to help or serve you on any occasion and will not do it now. Not because of what you did for me, although I know that I could never repay you for that, but because I admire you deeply."

"I am grateful for your kind words and good intentions, mellon-nîn," Elrond said with great effort. _Elbereth_, he was so distressed that he did not even know how to answer such a devoted statement. He began to rub his neck for a moment and closed his eyes briefly. When his attention was again turned to his friend, he saw that Eilafion looked even more depressed with the words he had just heard. "I beseech you then, even feeling so selfish to risk your position, my good Eilafion, to cross the paths you mentioned and bring me any news you can. I will be even more grateful to you than if you had saved my very life..."

The chief guard nodded solemnly, touched and still quite worried.

"Follow me then, sir. You can stay in my house while waiting for news."

Elrond shook his head vehemently.

"I will wait here. I've already infringed many rules; let me not infringe another one unnecessarily."

"You are exhausted, sir. Accept my hospitality, I beg you. I would be much honored."

Elrond lowered his eyes, shaking his head.

"I have no words to thank you, mellon-nîn. But my fatigue is not physical. Not even many nights of sleep in the most comfortable room that your good heart could furnish me would be able to relieve any trace of discomfort you see on my face. My heart will weigh less if I wait here," Elrond admitted, then he placed his hands on his friend's arms. "I thank you in advance, Eilafion, and I ask you to hurry."

The noble elf hesitated, twisting his lips, then nodded.

"I will ask that someone bring you refreshment then," he said, already at the gate.

"Eilafion," Elrond called to him, and when his friend's face turned to him, he shook his head once more. "Do not do anything except what I asked you, please. All I need is the information I desire. Informing the others about my presence here will only sow more feelings of concern which help little. Please hurry, my friend. "

The captain of the guard paused for a moment, but then nodded again in silence, quickening his pace as he entered the city. Elrond closed his eyes, turning to walk away. He took a few steps, then just let his body fall against the trunk of a nearby birch and closed his eyes briefly. There was nothing else to do but taste that painful waiting. All he could do was try to believe that a full reversal of what seemed to him to be hard facts was still possible. He had to.

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><p>When Elrond felt a hand on his knee, his eyes opened with a start. Before him was a familiar face with the glowing evening twilight to crown his silhouette. The same warm weather indicated that little time had passed.<p>

"_Mae Govannen, Elrond Peredhel,_" welcomed the elf with silver hair, his face partly hidden by a thin beard that he alone in the land possessed. His image had brought many thoughts to Elrond's head, which unleashed a torrent of uncertainties of all kinds, but only one broke his silence immediately, only one was able to move him from his state of extreme fatigue and concern.

"Has Eilafion found some information?" The question came to him suddenly, hurting as if it would break his chest open before reaching his mouth, taking the place of the greeting he had meant to give Círdan in return. Elrond seemed aware of his outburst only when the lord of the ships offered him a patient smile in response. "I apologize, Círdan, my wise friend..."

The Shipwright kept the same serenity on his face; in fact he did not seem offended. All he did was to offer a hand to the embarrassed newcomer when he began to rise. Elrond began to wonder if maybe his comment had been even more reckless than it seemed. Would Eilafion have told the story to the leader of the place?"

"There is nothing to forgive. If I were in search of a loved one, I would not have half the courtesy that you have shown, mellon-nîn," Círdan finally said, and Elrond lowered his face in a sign of respect, even in his desperation for information. "However, my heart is full of questions, which I need to answers for," he added, but the fact that his friend did not return his gaze made clear to the fair-haired elf how difficult it would be to get such information. He held Elrond gently by the arm, pointing the direction he would like to take.

"Círdan..." Elrond immediately hesitated. "I do not know if Eilafion informed you, but I..."

"This is the birthplace of the Lune." Seriousness then took the tone of the master of the boats. "A land reshaped by forces greater than the will of just one."

"An elven kingdom." Elrond had to lower his head. "I cannot go inside without compromising you. It's the law." He looked his friend in the eyes and finally took a deep breath. "I am dishonored; I am no longer considered someone to be trusted."

The Shipwright did not utter any word and his eyes, still fixed on the healer, did not say much either. Elrond also said nothing more, allowing himself to be scrutinized closely. Círdan was of the Teleri family, but never went to _Aman _or even _Tol-Eressëa_, the island that was home to their relatives for a long time. He did not follow any of them, always living on the shores of Middle-earth. It was hard to face him, for he was the oldest of the Elves of Middle-earth, one of the "unborn", one of the elves who had awakened to life under the stars with the celestial music.

Therefore, when the mariner's lips parted, Elrond came to fear that he would hear.

However, "Come, _mellon-nîn_," were his words. Hearing them brought Elrond slight trepidation, as if he were unsure he had understood Círdan completely. But Círdan reemphasized them, holding on to his friend's arm and adding: "The day when the laws of those who consider themselves wise enough to sum everything up in a dozen lines have effect here in _Mithlond_, perhaps will be the day that I'll build my last ship."

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><p>When Eilafion entered the large main hall, he found the figure of Lord of the Shores standing in front of the wide front window, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze, as always, sailing across the blue waters. The house of the Shipwright was strategically built so that he had vision of water in almost every window.<p>

"My lord?"

"Eilafion." The answer came without the Elf-lord turning. "Nothing yet?"

"No, sir. But I have soldiers searching throughout the wharf. I am sure to receive reports from them soon. I took the liberty of sending others out of town, to scour the surrounding area."

"You have done well."

"Have you managed to convince him to come in, sir?"

Círdan looked down, nodding briefly, while continuing to observe the routine of his people.

_Mithlond_ was a complete port city; in addition to fishing areas, there were mills, warehouses, barns, forges, stables and even small businesses. The inhabitants who were not fishermen and divers, were furriers, tanners, weavers and other artisans. Some elves cared for the orchards, which were many and full of fruits, even at this time of year, and others were also dedicated to gardening.

They were his people, whom Círdan watched fondly, accompanying them in their simple daily lives. He heard their songs of praise in times of plentiful fishing, at the beginning of seasons, at the end of a good day. Now some boats arrived with nightfall and the fishermen came down the wharf with the smile of duty done well on their faces, and with the bounty they'd earned for those ones that they cared for and loved. Expecting them, some wives were prepared to help in whatever way possible, their children scattered nearby, playing and smiling.

It was to them that the Shipwright was looking now: those tiny, magical beings that were part of his people, reminding him always of moments that he never had. He was never a child, but children enchanted him, filled him with endless curiosity. There were many children in the ports; couples, feeling motivated by the moments of peace, answered the call of nature around them and allowed themselves to know the value of the word family.

"There are many children." Eilafion's voice sounded at his side, as if to accompany the leader's thoughts. "But I know them all."

"Do you not believe then that Elrond's son is here?"

"I do not know what I believe, my lord. I dare say that this entire story seems unbelievable."

"What surprises you so much about it, Eilafion?"

The elf had pressed his lips tightly together, his eyes still on a couple of children who were pulling each end of a large rope on the dock in a fun tug of war. They were approximately the same height as the Elf-lord had described his son.

"He is still a boy..."

"Yes. That is a fact."

"I cannot imagine any of our children making the journey that this child has supposedly made."

Círdan smiled.

"And you have not heard half the story of this child, my friend," he said, remembering the incredible facts that Elrond had reluctantly told him, as he even more reluctantly followed Círdan into the port city.

"What do you mean, sir?"

Círdan exhaled.

"He is the son of Elrond. Grandson of Eärendil... Celeborn... Galadriel..." he said, and those facts by themselves appeared to be sufficient justification for the whole story he had heard.

"I do not doubt his abilities..." Eilafion sought to justify himself, still looking at the same pair of children. Only..."

"Right now all I want is to see is this child, for a number of reasons."

"Me too, sir ... Me too..." the elf sadly agreed. However, night was falling, and that was not very encouraging.

Elrond watched the same sunset with his heart in distress. Círdan had offered him a room, but for him it had little use. No sooner had he bathed and changed clothes than he was already standing in front of a window, cursing himself for being there and not searching, himself, every corner of the place. He sighed, looking at the dark landscape of the port. Some elves lit the lamps near the pier, while people's movements slowly diminished. In the distance, families left the wharf. Couples embraced, sometimes accompanied by an elfling hopping with that inexhaustible energy that only the small ones seemed to have.

What a blessed place this was! Elrond closed his eyes, feeling the wind blowing his hair, while his mind was filled with sweet pictures of his own family; in the garden; on the banks of the waterfall, where his sons liked to build their castles of mud; their play with swords made from branches; their jumps in the streams; their songs.

_Ilúvatar_, he just wanted his family back, no matter where they were, no matter in what circumstances they all had to live. He would give his right arm to have them at his side again, to hear the twins' voices, to hear them call him _Ada_ without any restriction, like the very first time they had done so. Elladan was the first, then Elrohir, and they smiled to see the amazed look on their father's face and repeated the magical word in unison the next time, just for his pleasure.

Elrond covered his face with his hands, rubbing it slowly, as someone who seeks a little more energy to endure a tough battle, but it did little to erase those memories. He raised his eyes to the landscape before him. _Elbereth_ there were so many children in the harbor. They were everywhere, even at dusk. They ran, jumped, pushed crates, built imaginary houses, pretended to fish, sang... Elrond looked at each of them, examining every smile, every line, as if he still had the hope of recognizing in one of those faces the one he was looking for.

Some of them were leaving slowly, taken with care by a parent, rubbing their tired eyes or humming a tune. The couples only raised one child at a time to adulthood, and then would think about a second experience, unless they were blessed, as he, with twins. But he had not seen any such cases, which made him question whether there were twins in the harbor. All the couples seemed to have only one child.

At that moment, coming around the corner, an elf walked hurriedly, pulling two children along with him. Elrond studied them, thinking it might finally be an answer to his question about twins at the harbor. It did not take so long, however, for the Elf-lord to realize that the children were not the same age. They were a boy and a girl who walked with a strangely urgent step. Elrond frowned, puzzled, and was even more intrigued when he saw the elf leading them bring them to the house where he now stood.

His attention, however, failed to stay fixed on the children, and he found himself turning to look at the part of the sea he could see from the bedroom window. The moon was reflected in the waters of the gulf. He let himself sink into the midst of some comforting thoughts while he kept almost absolute silence, until someone knocked on his bedroom door. Without waiting for an answer, the voice of Eilafion emerged.

"Lord Elrond. I think we have news of your son!"

Elrond hardly saw his friend's face as he brushed passed him in his eagerness to hear what had been found concerning Elrohir. They were both soon down the stairs, and then he was before the two children he'd just seen a few moments ago. One of them, the girl, was certainly much younger than Elrohir, but the boy, if not the same age, would surely be only a few years older than the twin. Both had light hair and very blue eyes. The stare emanating from them seemed to have a quality of surprise, but also apprehension. Círdan was positioned behind them, a hand on each of their shoulders.

"Yulion, Arehen, this is Lord Elrond, the father of the boy you met," he introduced them.

Elrond looked at them for a minute, then, and feeling the urgency move him more than his need to be cautious, he knelt before the small ones, surprising them.

"Children, please tell me what you know."

The little girl's eyes widened even more, and she trembled, but the boy hung his head, his face hardening as one who did not seem willing to cooperate. Círdan noticed the silence and moved closer to the children making the two elflings feel as if the siege was tightening around them.

"We have not seen anything... nothing," the little girl said, when the eyes of the Shipwright settled on her. There was an extreme respect for Círdan all across the harbor, which extended from adults to children alike. That's why, indeed, they felt to be in a delicate situation at least, having been brought before the supreme lord.

It was then that another elf quickly came into in the room. He was still in his fishing clothes, seeming to have just landed at the wharf.

"Lord Círdan, what happened, my lord?" he asked after a short bow, then looked at the two children. "Yulion? What happened, ion-nîn? What have you and your cousin done?"

Elrond, who was sitting back on his heels, then stood up, looking at the newcomer for a moment. He then put his hand on his chest, waiting to be introduced.

"Undon, this is Elrond Peredhel, the Lord of Imladris," Círdan said, fulfilling his role as master of his house. Elrond swallowed that bitter title, which no longer fit him, but the fisherman looked at him with respect.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lord Undon," he said with a slight bow.

The newcomer raised surprised eyebrows.

"The pleasure is mine, Lord Elrond. Call me just Undon, sir," he said, returning the greeting. "I hope my children have not caused any problems."

Elrond did not answer, he just looked back at the two elflings, not knowing what to say.

Círdan subtly pulled Elrond and Undon a bit away from the children. "Undon is raising his niece, since the sea has taken his brother," he quietly said to his friend, trying clearly not to be overheard by the little girl. "Arehen's mother decided to follow her husband to the hall of waiting."

Elrond sighed briefly. There were few elves that had enough energy to bring up their children by themselves to maturity. Elvish children needed the presence and life force of both parents so they could walk through the years of their childhood healthy and heart cherished. This is why elves only desired to have them in times of peace.

"I am sorry about that," he said, deeply feeling the weight of the sad story, but also unable to stop thinking about his own family, now so fragmented.

"I'm grateful," Undon said, still confused. "What has happened that involves the children, sir?"

Elrond and Círdan exchanged a quick glance and the Shipwright was willing to clarify the facts.

"Elrond's son is gone and we have suspicions that your children have seen him."

Undon frowned.

"Your son, sir?"

"Yes," said Elrond. "He's still a boy. He is the height and perhaps the age of your son. I have been looking for any news of him since I left Rivendell."

"_Ilúvatar_," the fisherman cried, surprised, turning immediately to his child. "Yulion, have you seen him?"

The children did not respond, but the little girl shook her hands in front of her body, then "She stood on one foot, the toe of the other bouncing against the floor in her nervousness.

"Arehen?" insisted the uncle.

"He asked us not to tell anyone. We promised. He did not really ask, because he does not speak... so I let him write on the blank pages of that book you gave me. So I could understand what he wanted and..." The elfling squinted when her uncle knelt before her. "Sorry ... He asked and we promised... If anyone finds out, then he would not be able to do what he had to and..."

"Shut up, Arehen," fumed her cousin. "You should not have said anything, you stupid girl! Now we will be punished!"

"Do not talk to your cousin so, Yulion." The father was vexed, holding his son by the arm.

"She's an idiot." The boy freed himself with a sudden movement, jerking his arm away. "I told her not help him but she did it anyway. I told her not to tell anyone and what did she do? She told the soldier, and now she is telling you everything. She does not know how to keep a secret. I'm not going to be blamed because of this useless girl. She is the one who did what she should not have. Punish her."

"Wait a minute..." Undon said, trying to understand, before being interrupted by the girl's words in her own defense.

"He had to take the sword..." Arehen said, startled by her cousin's tone. "He needed to take the warrior's sword back, because it was the warrior's... We needed to help him..."

"Who told you that we needed to help him?" asked the other child. "You are an idiot, the same as you always are."

"I'm not an idiot."

"Stop it you two!"

"Of course you are. You are a useless idiot."

"Stop!"

"I'm not!"

"I said stop!" repeated the father, holding each by one arm. "You're embarrassing me in front of Lord Círdan and his guest!"

Elrond covered the right side of his face, while the children continued hurling insults at each other and Undon sought to restrain them. What he read between the lines of their discussion did not look promising. He finally covered his face with both hands and only discovered it when he felt Círdan's arm wrap around his shoulders. The information implied in the children's speech also seemed too clear to the Shipwright.

"Come, sit down."

"_Elbereth_, Círdan," Elrond said, starting to move anxiously, unsure where to go. "He's gone, isn't he? He got a boat and is trying to reach the island..."

Círdan did not answer, he just turned his eyes to the two children who now watched the elf with agonized, pale faces, oblivious to their petty quarrels. It was from the girl's mouth that the worst news came that Elrond could have heard.

"A raft... There was not a real boat... He was on our small raft to play..."

Elrond closed his eyes, his body tense, and only Círdan's arms restraining him kept him from leaving the place immediately.

"When, child?" the shipwright asked, as he contained his friend.

"Yesterday in the evening."

"Almost sunset," the boy added. Elrond's distressed face seemed to have touched him, so he finally decided to tell what he knew. "We were not going to help him. I was just hoping my father would come, so that he could tell us what to do, but they were delayed because the sea was rough. When they arrived, the boy was already gone."

"My good _Ulmo_..." Undon exclaimed. "I saw such a raft on the ocean... But there was nobody on it... It was late, the sea was rough and a storm was amassing in the sky. We did not even think about retrieving it..."

This time Elrond had to sit down, because if he did not he would have fallen where he was. Círdan took his hand, still embracing him.

"I want all the ships at sea," the shipwright ordered. "Covering the entire coast from here to _Tol Morwen_."

"But sir... the sea is too skittish since yesterday. Today will be even worse. All the fishermen came back because it is not prudent to risk themselves. It is not wise to ask them to face the water at night..."

"Have mercy, Círdan." Elrond shook his head hard, standing on impulse. "I cannot let you do this," he said in a loud and almost despairing tone. "I cannot commit you all... Please, give me a ship or close your eyes as I take one, but let me go in search of my son alone. Allow me this last step in my mission, but I fear not having the necessary competence to end it satisfactorily... Let me at least complete it... "

"Elrond..."

"I am the son of Eärendil ..." he said, his eyes already filled with tears, his chest heaving. "If the sea, the sky or destiny wants to take me on a ship in an identical or different way of my father, and even if not by the same noble cause, so be it... But whatever happens, if my incompetence is going to be punishment to someone, allow it to be only to me and nobody else... I... I need to try to find my son, no matter what has happened to him..."

"Wait until the sun rises, sir," Undon continued to advise. He was sorry for what happened to Elrond, as he knew well the sea and its losses. "Tomorrow we all can help you..."

"I will not have peace... even with the dawning of the most beautiful day... or with a sea mirroring the bluest of all the skies..." he said, and walked to the door, stunned. Before leaving, however, one hand held his, and when he turned, his gaze was caught by the clear and simple eyes of Arehen.

"He was on the raft, but my uncle did not see him..." she revealed, emphasizing that certainty with a nod. "I told him to hide with my cloak. My _Ada_ gave me a special gray cloak and no one sees me when I hide under it. Adults say we cannot go to the great sea because of the bad monster, so I lent him my cloak, because then the monster of the sea would not see him and try to eat him as did with my _Ada_... The monster would think that the raft was empty... But he was there. I know he was."

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><p>And the sea lived up to the experienced Undon's negative perspective, showing off even angrier and more intolerant that night than it had been the day before. The waves swelled, rolling back and forth, drenching the docks, inhibiting the light of the torches.<p>

However, ignoring any arguments that Elrond and the other people tried to use, Círdan himself launched his ship, and his shout to the ocean. He gave to the Lord of Imladris, who was with him, and the stunned elves, who stayed on the dock, good reasons to know why he was called by many 'the Lord of Winds and the Master of Waters'...

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><p><strong>I'd like to give thank to all reviewers who are still with me: Glory Bee, <strong>**janelover1,**** Evereven, ****melissamed, DreamingIn2Eternity, ****Duilin, ****The Pearl Maiden, ****SilvanShemesh,****Lia Whyteleafe, Pitybe. Hope you have appreciated this chapter. Many thanks again to Puxinette, my kind and patient beta.**


	17. Impossible Victories - Part 1

**Disclaimer**: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

Some fragments of Elladan reading were taken from "_A seer of Brethil" in The Encyclopedia of Arda._

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XVII - Impossible Victories – part I<strong>_

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><p><em>O salty sea, how much of your salt<em>

_They are tears of Portugal!_

_By crossing you, how many mothers wept,_

_How many children prayed in vain!_

_How many brides have been married for_

_To be our own, O sea!_

_Was it worth it? It is worth_

_If the soul is not small._

_Who wants to go beyond Bojador_

_Has to pass beyond pain._

_God is a danger to the sea and the gulf gave_

_But it is that mirrored the sky_.

**Portuguese Sea** – Fernando Pessoa

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><p>Hours before Elrond and Círdan's risky leaving, Elrohir also tried to tame this feisty horse of salty taste and unpredictable spirit, but his frail raft was not shown to be an appropriate tool for that, sometimes seeming more obedient to the master ocean than the twin, throwing him into the water and being a little unwilling to accept his return.<p>

However, Elrohir had not been named _warrior elf _by his father just to fail to live up to it. Even though he struggled, it felt as if the very force of the wind gladdened his heart, reinforcing the intense affection he had always felt for water and the magic of its unfathomable movement.

Several times his hands were not strong enough, and he was forced to endure the salty taste of the sea that was entirely different from the waterfalls of his land. Yet he was always able to overcome those obstacles and return to the raft, giving thanks for being cautious enough to leave the important object he carried tied to it, and thus protected from the violent weather.

However, now there was one more unexpected event. The evening was coming and the dark was allying itself to the other enemies with whom the boy struggled, also trying to steal his way. And the storm was now hiding the brightness of the stars.

But Elrohir had few opportunities to look at or fear the sky above, because the force of the current was such that it was an increasingly hard effort just trying to see the distant beacons. They were already like flickering lights, but with the increase of the waves, they were disappearing as their siblings, the stars above, slowly being swallowed by darkness different from the one that covered the sky.

It was in search of them that Elrohir risked kneeling on the fragile raft, squinting his eyes, beaten by the rain, toward a horizon of pure darkness, without any sign of where to go. The very intense lurch of the waves prevented him from discovering where he was now.

Lights. Where were those blessed lights?

He moved his worried eyes in many directions, overwhelmed by a feeling closer to despair than he had had since the first time he crossed the bridge of his city alone.

_Elbereth_, he was lost.

His spirit was screaming this truth at him now, among other more terrifying conclusions, while his mind wondered if his accelerated heart could beat even faster. He continued to search in three hundred sixty degrees of darkness, mystery and terror, before the pain of his poorly healed wounds added to his growing despair, forcing the last of his energy leave him.

Then the worst happened: A huge wave added more water to the nightmare, rising from the chaotic sea and hitting Elrohir exactly in the back, taking him totally unprepared, robbing him of his breath and throwing him back into the clutches of the reckless stormy sea. It took a few more seconds for him to understand what was happening before his body fell back into the water, which seemed even colder and more rebellious than the last time he fell in. Submerged again, the twin pulled on the same courage he had used before, but his tired and wounded arms refused to continue in this insane game.

The current then started to take him in the opposite direction to which he knew he should go, dragging him down several times before he could return to the surface. His sight grew dark and cloudy, and it seemed as if he would never be able to breathe again. To his misfortune, when he finally managed to emerge from the nightmare water in search of the sky above, he realized that something worse had happened: the starless night, reflected in the water, had stolen the view of his last refuge.

The raft... Where was the raft?

Elrohir turned around in the same place in the water, his eyes searching in every direction, trying hard not to get carried away and come to some desperate conclusion.

But there was only darkness and more darkness.

The raft was gone ... It had disappeared… And with it the twin felt the remnants of his energy and hope being taken too.

_Elbereth_, this could not be happening. He tried searching for it a bit longer, while he fought to keep the sea from swallowing him again. He was so tired, and the water churned and continued to try to submerge him relentlessly at every turn. He could only keep his head above water a few moments at a time, while he spent others completely submerged.

Each time it was more difficult to stay afloat.

Each time it was more difficult to breathe.

Each time it was harder to believe...

Maybe because of that, the next unexpected wave that swallowed him more violently, found almost no resistance. He had no time or chance to recover his lost breath and, when the water sucked him down so completely, Elrohir felt the uncontrollable fear that little Arehen had been right and her story of horrible monsters devouring ships, was not just a fanciful tale used by adults to prevent children from venturing into the open sea.

Now the girl's face was before him, her big eyes and easy smile, her hands clutching the gray cloak she had won from her father.

Her father… who the sea had also taken...

"_Use this cloak over your head when you are in the big sea. Do not leave it ever and they will not see you. The big monsters do not see us when we are covered this way, so tiny and hidden. They will not see you if you do not uncloak."_

"_Do not uncloak. Never..."_

Maybe she was right... Yes, and he was in this situation because he had not followed the girl's advice, because he disobeyed the rules as usual.

He disobeyed the rules... It was what he always did...

Now he was caught out ... He was caught out… at last...

He deserved it, didn't he?

He continued to question himself before everything around him was total cold darkness; a damp darkness; a suffocating darkness.

And he swallowed water once, twice and three times, and then the very truth invaded his mind...

There was nothing but water and more water...

Water... Water... Water...

There was no light...

There was no air...

There was...

Until… Something unexpected happened... An incredible turnaround in an almost lost game, something the twin would never be able to explain, nor would anyone, when he told this story later, believe. For some people, the strange light that surprised Elrohir and brought him back to the surface, could only have been contrived by his exhausted and distressed mind. But to the young elf , it seemed like he saw a gentle but firm stare coming from inside a large wave, its white spume resembling the silky threads of a very long beard.

Other listeners, however, would be silent about the young elf's story of the vision he had, but kept, as Elrohir had, an intriguing suspicion: that _Ulmo_ himself, his own presence and light, had had mercy on that unwise child, or perhaps on the desperate father who was searching for him, and had rescued him... and thrown him on very solid ground...

At least it was where the young elf awoke. On solid, wet land.

Elrohir looked up, feeling as if his head weighed three times its normal weight. He turned on his side and coughed a few times, after which he tried to rise on one elbow, but slumped back after only a few seconds. His body had been carelessly thrown onto some rocks and, although he was still being hit by the surf that bathed the coast, and the gray sky continued to shed its tears, though less intensely, he wanted to stay where he was. He knew that, after escaping from such a catastrophe, he should only give thanks, but unfortunately he could not feel happy that the sea had had mercy on him.

He knew where he was. He would know it even with his eyes closed. The image of this place had been in his dreams and nightmares in every few moments of sleep he had throughout the trip. Yes, he knew where he was, but he would love to not know. At least not now, not at this moment.

_Tor Morwen_… He was there… At the Hapless' land.

Now out of the rebellious sea, all Elrohir could feel was that his heart was about to explode with pain and anguish. He did not mind being alone, being lost, even knowing that he could die right here on this piece of ground, which was the scene of other even sadder stories than his. No. He did not mind ending his days here; it was what he deserved. He just didn't want to have lost his only opportunity to correct the error he had committed. He wanted to at least have accomplished his mission and redeem his error, by returning the sword to whom he believed was its rightful owner.

But he had lost it... at the last moment ...

Elrohir squinted, thinking of all the evil he had unleashed and which would probably only grow larger while he was sitting here, lost, and a loser again.

That feeling brought back to him the same feeling that was bringing him tears almost every day: a hatred; an implacable hatred of himself. He began to wonder what his father thought; to see again the look of pure disappointment that Elrond had directed at him, as he had discovered his child's infraction.

_Elbereth_, he preferred to die there in the most painful way, than to see his father look at him like that again.

Yes, he would rather die here.

He then took a deep breath, and the taste of salt that was permeating his senses returned to his lips, but this time it was for a different reason. Elrohir raised his teary face, then set his head back down, staring again at that vast sea, and thinking that, perhaps, _Ulmo_, might have gathered all the tears from _Arda_ to compose it, its sound was so sad, like a melancholic song. Once he had heard Erestor explain to one of the elves of the guard about a feeling that afflicted some of them, especially the older ones, and that the advisor had called "longing for the sea." He'd said that the Elves, when they are tired of life, had a desire to depart, to navigate the waters.

He was tired ... but he didn't want the sea to take him anywhere...

Well .. maybe to one place... a place he once called home... But that was an impossible dream.

A dream, a remembrance…

_"Túrin's body had been found by the Elves of Doriath, who buried him," Elladan read mentally, while sitting cross-legged on the mattress on the day of his brother's departure. Elrohir adjusted his belongings, but followed the story as his brother read it. "They also raised a large stone and placed it on the hill, on it the Elves carved in runes of Doriath the name of Túrin and Niënor. Later, Húrin made a grave for Morwen above Cabed Naeramarth on the west side of the stone; and upon it he cut these words: __Here lies also Morwen Eledhwen_."

_Elladan finished the piece, then looked at his brother, who stared back at him. Then he turned again to the book he had on his lap, and his reading resonated in the younger twin's mind once more, but in a more serious tone_.

"_It was said that a Man of Brethil called Glirhuin, who was both a seer and a poet, made a song about the grave of Húrin's family, and the Stone of the Hapless that marked it. Glirhuin claimed that the stone would stand even if the sea should flood the lands about it. After the War of Wrath, the land was broken and the western ocean did indeed rush into those regions, but Glirhuin's prophecy proved true. The Stone of the Hapless remained above the waves as an island, and became known as __Tol Morwen__, 'Morwen's Isle'_.

When Elrohir reopened his eyes it was for just a moment, because he had to close them again to protect himself from a disobedient sunbeam, which had peeked from between two swollen gray clouds , as if its only intention was to awake the boy. All his moments of rest or reverie were taken by dreams, the theme continuing in the same manner, without any alteration. The rain seemed to have decided to opt for a moment of truce, even with its grumpy signals of lightening or of a darkening sky.

It was late afternoon and the twin finally began to feel the cold of winter, of his wet and exhausted body, of his lack of perspective. He stood up, dealing with the many pains caused by the uncomfortable place in which he had been lying, and for all the things that had happened to him. He was still beside the sea, which had not seemed to have calmed down enough yet. The tide had receded a few inches and did not reach him anymore.

Elrohir's shoulders dropped, and he pointlessly wrapped his arms around his body to protect himself from the sudden cold as he stared at the darkened horizon. He was still unwilling to even think of what to do. In fact there was nothing to be done, at least nothing of great value. He pulled his legs up, wrapping both arms around his knees, and closing his eyes, as he dared at last to think of all that had happened.

_Elbereth_, he was in _Tol Morwen_. After so long a journey, so many fears, so many risks, he had done something not even he believed himself capable of. Despite the fact that the exact location of the island had not appeared in any book he had read, , he knew he was in _Tol Morwen_ ... He was in Tol Morwen, but failed to bring with him the motivation for his very presence in this place.

Elrohir closed his eyes again for a moment, then opened them and dared to have a little look at the landscape that was behind him. The island had no beach at all, its coast was composed of stones and moss, and its inside was a tangle of all kinds of trees.

_Tol Morwen_ was green, as was its original mother: _The Brethil Forest_, which once kept this place in its arms. Formerly it was a large area, also full of trees, between the rivers _Teiglin_ and _Sirion_. Its highest point then remained untouched by the waters, as a reminder of something that could never be forgotten. Perhaps the good and bad times had spared that green and rocky high hill for those who had not found peace there, so that it could have guaranteed at least, the memory they left.

Elrohir looked at the jungle for a moment, remembering the sad story of those who the island protected. He then swallowed hard, his heart sorry for being here, knowing that maybe he would die here, next to this family in which he did not belong. A wind blew through his hair then, and the cold had slowly passed the limits of the bearable for someone as tired as the young elf. He then stood up, looking at the trees and wondering if making a shelter and corrupting the intact landscape would be his last major infraction.

All he could do now was to win some smooth stones of the slope and climb up to the trees. And this was the way the young elf decided to go, but he never imagined that this latest move could be so hard. At first he tried to run it, walking wobbly among the obstacles toward the edge of dense forest, but soon he realized how risky this territory was, as his foot slipped on a sticky green limb on the margin. It took him it back to where he had started with a muffled moan of pain and a more muffled muttering between his teeth. Stupid vow of silence; why did he continue to fulfill it, even here, alone in this nothingness?

That thought brought back to light the same harmful feeling that had been gnawing at him for days. Stupid. Stupid. He was really a stupid elfling, who was not able to do anything right. How could he have thought himself able to do this? How could he have judged it would be possible to perform such an absurd maneuver? How could he? How could he have believed it?

And those issues were weighing his head down; making it weigh so much, that he finally realized he was leaning his forehead on the ground, without even the will to stand. He was leaning on his sore knees and wounded palms, but cared little for the pain. He wanted to hit his head on the hard soil until it broke into pieces and poured forth the futility which was within it. He even thought of doing this, he thought of worse things, but when he reopened his eyes, with his head just a few inches off the ground, something caught his attention.

Another ray of light escaped through the stubborn, fat clouds, as if now it wanted to play a bit with objects other than his soaked, still body on the slope. He turned slightly, his eyes narrowed in concentration, like someone who did not really believe what he saw: There were some broken pieces of wood thrown upon the island by the tide, as he himself had been, though a little farther down the on shore. Probably only now at low tide were they visible. Among them, in the midst of the stones and challenging the sunset, as if it were equally willing to be part of the game of Anor, there was a gleaming metal that he knew well.

_Elbereth_, the young elf thought to himself, after his mind had stabbed him awake from the trance in which he'd been in. He closed his mouth, which had been wide open in disbelief and surprise.

Then, completely forgetting the cold, as well as his pain and anguish, he ventured back to the steep slope, fearless as he had never really ceased to be. He slipped on some quite smooth rocks, faced other obstacles, won again the blessing of the waters, but finally managed to rescue what he had judged lost.

When he finally returned to the entrance to the small forest, the last thing that was on his mind was to build a talan or rest. It mattered little to him that the night fell or the rain fell, or even that another ray of sun fell like the one that illuminated the metal of this mysterious weapon. All he wanted was to follow the path he had to take and find the warrior's tomb, the tomb of Túrin Turambar. There was still a sliver of sunshine, a spark of light and above all, there was still some hope.

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers: <strong>world-classgeek, Gwedhiel0117, Marchwriter, shine lots, Evereven, Arien Arlorwen, eliza61, Lia Whyteleafe, melissamed, The Pearl Maiden, Duilin, SilvanShemesh, Pitybe. <strong>Many thanks to **Puxinette**, my kind and patient beta.


	18. Impossible Victories - Part 2

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XVIIi - Impossible Victories – part ii<strong>_

"_We must do what we think we are not capable of doing."_

Eleanor Roosevelt

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><p>As Elrohir traced the path of the sunlight's ray through the woods, a question began to bother him immensely: if in fact he would be able to find the Stone of the Hapless, under which lay the tomb of the warrior. He had walked for a long time, following only his impressions and instincts, but had found nothing of significance.<p>

It was ironic that, after having gone down all the long and dangerous paths he'd already traveled, following only his badly and hastily-drawn map, he would find himself now, in a place whose diameter did not reach three kilometers, unable to finish his task. All he could do was concentrate his few energies on remembering the map of Brethil; the image of how the region was before the flood. But it was not helping much now, as he trudged through the trees with only a little visible gray day between them.

The ancient forest was still true to its original geography in one thing: it drew its paths on steep slopes, hiding the inclining ground and not offering much help to unwary travelers. It was almost impossible to read the sky above, even on sunny days, and the forest was too silent. All Elrohir heard was the songs of some birds, the trill of crickets, along with other familiar sounds he had always associated with woodland areas, since in Rivendell he had lived with a forest and its inhabitants as neighbors.

He continued to walk slowly for a while, trying to find an effective way to follow, when he realized that his initial excitement perhaps was making him expend energy without efficiency, since the land, uninhabited for hundreds of years, provided no clue of which way to go.

Only then did the body of the tired young elf disobediently ask him for some mercy. He stopped almost instinctively then, panting lightly. Finally, he leant against a tree, examining his surroundings first, and then slid slowly down its trunk. He had intended to sit for only a while; time enough to regain some of his already scarce energy. His clothes were still wet and a light rain began to slip through the tall trees, as if it aimed at keeping the little world a stew for as long as it deemed necessary.

He had been refusing to admit his exhaustion, but his eyelids weighed, unwilling to allow those windows which reflected anguish and pain to stay open. He closed his eyes for a minute, wondering if he would still dream about the island, now that he was so into its bush. His own breathing seemed loud, and he felt out of place. As he listened to his surroundings, he heard a noise, and he imagined himself as a rodent or other animal making a sound such as that, as if he were the one scurrying through the contorted trunks, running through endless burrows in search of nothing but his own food to fill his belly.

The animals were happy...

Elrohir sighed, adjusting his body on the irregular ground with a grimace.

Why had he continued? He could stay right here, live here, die here; he could even give up if he wanted to. No one would know about this last failure. No one... Nobody would ever find him here in this forbidden territory...

He sighed, trying to fill his lungs with the certainty that, at the end, he would still be in the same situation. He knew he could not give up. He wished he could. He took a deep breath again, and the noise he'd heard before became louder and closer, making the twin think that rodents would not be able to make such a sound, even if they had his size. The next sound, louder and much more definite, finally made him open his eyes.

_Elbereth_, he wished he would not have re-opened them...

When the blurred image that came before him finally gained focus, he wished again that he'd not opened his eyes. The only certainty he had was that it would be his first contact with a figure, real or not, which definitely would become something that would haunt him all his life.

Behind a thin bush, two very bright eyes flashed, focused in his direction. Elrohir took a deep breath again and this time he started to wish his tired mind was playing tricks on him. But the sound of a serious growl came as an immediate response to his desire. The twin frowned, unable to believe in the size of that creature, which would not let its prey escape from its attention for a moment. When the growl of the animal was suddenly lower, and huge white teeth gleamed in its snarling mouth, that was enough to put the boy back on his feet, holding the weapon in his shaking hands.

Meanwhile the beast moved slowly from its hiding place, its paws kneading thick branches as if they were twigs, a dark muzzle wrinkled in search of the pleasant smell that emanated from its prey. Elrohir could not contain the mixed feelings that the vision was causing him, although it was hard to believe. He was morbidly fascinated; he had never seen an animal like this. The size of the creature was huge, bigger than the strongest horse, even larger than that... Its walk, however, was firm and secure, almost beautiful, and as it moved, its long black hair shone, like a starless night.

_Gaurhoth_. That was its name, among others. Elrohir remembered that once Erestor had commented on them, evil spirits trapped in bodies of huge wolves. What parts of them that were beautiful, they had other parts equally dangerous. They were guardians of every kind of wickedness, fueled by raw meat and having as their only master their own creator, and those ones who served him.

_Gaurhoth_... This could be one of them... No... They were extinct... Extinct...

The twin leaned against the trunk behind him, trying to believe in that idea, but he remembered that he had been restless for three nights, barely sleeping. So he tried to draw to his mind the image of the creature his mentor had described.

_Elbereth_, he'd actually drawn this creature, and his drawing had been so eerily perfect that Elladan had asked him to do something he had never asked him to do before in his life.

_Ro, throw this drawing out..._

Now he felt that another drawing he had done in the past was coming alive. Unfortunately, this was not a map of an unknown landscape, a series of plateaus, a forest, a swamp full of insects. This fact was made more than clear to him, when the animal not only growled again, but stood on its back legs just like a thinking creature, moving its front paws like a bear.

The twin's eyes rounded...

No, this was not the result of a night's delirium and nightmares he had after he'd heard the story from Erestor. This was real... This was very real. Too real!

The wolf growled again, opening his salivating mouth and showing the bright tips of its canines once more. Suddenly it threw its body forward, leaning again on all fours and looking into Elrohir's eyes. It was at that moment that something even more terrifying happened. The beast wrinkled his nose, but instead of emitting the same terrible sound, another unexpected one came through those teeth:

"_Vowel zanbaur! Vrasubatlat_" (Elf's cub, I will kill you!)

Elrohir felt his chin soften; his jaw fell open slowly...

There were stories about the descendants of _Draugluin_, Sauron's wolf and king of werewolves of _Angband_, stories which said that, in some very rare moments, they felt inclined to pronounce some phrases. Elrohir did not understand what the words meant, but he noticed the intonation of the cursed ancient Black Speech, recognized its tone, its power, and the indescribable feeling it brought to those who had heard it.

"_Vrasubatlat,_" the beast threatened again. Its contracted eyes now seemed to analyze the prey, waiting for something. For what? What were those eyes waiting for? What was that horrible creature waiting for? Why had it not attacked him yet?

Elrohir felt his body begin to go limp, and at first it confused him.

The Black Speech... He remembered then. The dialect was prohibited in any kingdom, but once Glorfindel had whispered some of those ominous words to him and Elladan in secrecy and in a very reserved way. He had done it so that the two brothers would know the strong and rather unpleasant effect that evil could inspire.

"_Vrasubatlat,_" threatened the beast again, making Elrohir remember even better the feeling he'd had at the time his blond mentor had spoken, even in his melodic and beautiful voice, other words similar to these: an intense cold, the impression that the air was too thin to breathe. He closed his eyes with the impact of those memories that were now mingled with this new, and obviously, most real experience.

The animal's eyes narrowed with pleasure then, seeming to notice the reaction of the elf boy and already sliding a sticky tongue past its moist nose, over the terrible teeth. Corrupting the prey, and then devouring it. It was an indescribable delight.

But Glorfindel's actions had not been in vain. He had not broken the strict protocols, or infringed the rules of Rivendell, nor heard his healer friend's considerable rebuke for what he had done, for no good reason. Elrohir knew why his mentor had breached these barriers. He wanted, as in everything he did, good or evil, to teach the two pupils an important lesson.

And Glorfindel would be happy. Because his best student had rescued what he had learned, reopening his eyes and safeguarding his spirit from the evil. As he watched the perverse animal, he realized the feeling of displeasure that his reaction had stirred in it. The wolf had a moment of awe and disbelief, then his face twisted in an even more pronounced rage and it yelped loudly, a long and deafening howl, before advancing on its prey, without any other warning.

Elrohir did not even know how he managed to escape the first impact. Perhaps it was the uncontrollable panic that made him flee swiftly through the gnarled branches, sometimes going right; sometimes left; skipping some; passing under others, and feeling several times, the claws of the beast passing millimeters from his body.

It was as unbelievable as it was frightening, and the twin did not even know what he was doing, moving his panting body with amazing agility and taking advantage of his small build before the beast, which was so much larger than he, to trick it several times. In one of his incredible escapes, he came to pass underneath the wolf, when he, in blind anger, leaped over his prey.

In the course of his flight instinct, the body of the young elf suddenly slipped on a muddy path, and he rolled a few feet down, over loose branches and wet leaves. The beast, still in pursuit, also slipped, then gave two great leaps to try to reach him. Elrohir had come to the end of the slope down which he had rolled, and he was still dazed on the ground when he saw his attacker already in the air, front claws outstretched like a great Tiger.

He had hardly recovered from the new shock and pain caused by the twist his body had made as he crossed that path full of obstacles. He thought he was already past both his body's endurance and the lengths to which his instincts could carry him. His quick thinking allowed him to get away by penetrating through the roots of a large tree, escaping again with incredible luck. He made it in time to see the heavy feet fall in the place where he had just been before, and then the beast got stuck in the mud and branches.

It never occurred to him to wait and see if the animal escaped easily; all he thought about doing was running as fast as he could and hiding behind an old oak tree, whose roots seemed as old as the land from which they escaped. Only then the twin stopped to catch his breath a little, as well as to think about what to do during this insignificant moment he had for himself.

Elrohir noticed then that there was an even deeper space between the moist ground and the roots. He even thought to seek a better hiding place, but when he heard that scary growl approaching again, he left his uncertainties for later and went down as far as he could beneath the trunk above, hiding himself into that rabbit hole the tree had created.

_Ilúvatar_, this was not happening. He must be dreaming; such a creature could not exist here, could not be living alone on this island. How would it have gotten here? No. It could not be happening. As he had these thoughts, he brought the sword that he was trying to protect close to his chest. It felt as if his heart was climbing its way up his throat and his body seemed hard as a rock, petrified by the intense fear.

It didn't take long, however, before the young elf's fears appeared to be coming true. He then heard the last sound he would like to hear on this or any other occasion. Constant sniffing emerged amongst the roots and fallen trunks and branches, closer and closer. The twin stopped breathing, not sure how much of the creature's hunting abilities were favored by its hearing rather than smell. The nose of the beast squirmed then, analyzing what it could from the smell it collected. Then the nose left by the way it had come and disappeared.

It would be too lucky for it not to have sensed him, Elrohir knew very well, and it was this reason that made the young elf feel as if he could not breathe normally, even if he wanted to. But soon focusing on his breathing had become the least of his problems: a huge paw appeared through the roots, quickly invading the dark hiding place with unbelievable accuracy and hitting him exactly in the chest.

Elrohir let out an inevitable cry of pain, his first sound after many months, but managed to escape the second attack, rolling to the other side of the tree and leaving the enemy just a sad memory: the remnants of his prey's shirt stuck in its claws.

Now he did not question himself about the presence of this animal here, or even how he could still have the strength to run. He just did it, already feeling the heavy body behind him again. The path ahead was difficult; the trees hugged each other, twisting their branches and roots, and creating complicated obstacles on the ground. He continued as he could, taking advantage that the enemy had its own difficulties. The wolf was much too large in the heavy woods, and it had to pull down the fragile vegetation to make its way.

Elrohir could not stay in that game of cat and mouse any longer. He knew he had no strength to do it, mainly because the sound of the beast was approaching closer and closer, and meeting it in a new confrontation was not within his ability. Elrohir did not ponder this overlong; his instincts led him to seek another way. When he realized that the beast had almost reached him, he used another of his skills, desperately climbing the first tree he found and trying to make his way through the branches above.

That seemed to further enrage the animal, which at first tried to follow its cunning prey. But the fragile birch could not stand the weight of the beast and it bowed and cracked. Elrohir did not wait for the fall, jumping to another tree and trying to continue his escape with the new path he had chosen, above the ground. The wolf had not been so lucky, and the twin heard the heavy sound of the enemy's body hitting the ground, while he continued his flight.

The feeling of victory was short-lived, for soon the animal reappeared; now following the escape of its prey on the ground, continuing to crush branches, and knock down small trees. They were almost all of the same species, some with more than twenty feet in height and strong enough to help the twin to stay safe. Others were young and fragile. Elrohir risked himself in all of them, escaping by a whisker from falls while trying to keep to the course with only one hand free to help him.

It was a long and dangerous journey, full of moments that seemed crucial, filled with feelings of more peril, until a last branch was not as strong as it looked. The twin's guard was down and he was tired, and he realized too late the lack of strength of the tree. When he felt his body start to fall, the only positive thing was the roar of the enemy as he got out of the way of the tree as it fell.

To his surprise, however, the thud on the ground beneath him was not solid, at least not the way the boy had imagined it would sound. In fact, he found himself falling for longer than he thought to be the height of the tree in which he'd sought support, until his body was stopped by some long, thin branches that prevented him from continuing his uncertain journey.

It seemed a safe place, except for the fact that he was not sure where he was. Elrohir thought of turning a little to look down, but when he lifted his head he immediately regretted it. If he had not done that he would not have been aware of how serious his situation was. The shirt he wore was torn and completely drenched in a bright red blood, which flowed from large cuts that the strange animal had made on his chest. Elrohir took a deep breath, realizing that the extreme fear seemed to have anesthetized him, and just now the searing pain of those wounds was making itself felt.

The moment of despair and pain, however, was short, for soon his awareness and his instinct for preservation noticed another detail, equally serious. The tree, whose branch had saved him from falling, had its roots too steep in the ground. Steep and almost vertical. In fact the tree seemed to have germinated from pure rock.

Worse than that ...

There was no ordinary rock holding the tree; it was the wall of a cliff, whose height was not as great as the old _Cabed Naeramarth_, a ravine which got its name - "The Leap of Dreadful Doom" - when Niënor, Túrin Turambar's sister and wife,cast herself into the chasm, upon learning that dreadful truth. However, this cliff kept much of the former's danger. It still had the same abrupt and almost naked face with other trees on the crest, as the one in which the twin found himself. However, replacing the turbulent waters of the old River _Teiglin,_ the sea was now below him , striking the hillside and seeming ready to devour any offering that the cliff might send.

After realizing that cruel reality, despair gained a new meaning for the boy, who had already been through so much and now did not know what to do. He did not know what to believe, did not know what to expect, did not know how to handle it all. Elrohir's breathing sped up even more, and he started to look around in utter exasperation. He had told himself many times that he felt he would die here, but did not know it would be this way. He'd never imagined that, after all, he would return to the arms of the sea, which had rejected him once, but now seemed even more anxious for another chance to prove its strength.

The twin tried to climb higher, but he felt so much pain from so many different things that all he wanted to do was to yell; scream as loud as he could, with pain, anger and hopelessness. He was tired, he was terrified, and he wanted, really wanted, everything to end. He wanted that damn place to disappear, and wished to disappear with it. Let the water take away this cursed piece of land. He squeezed his eyes shut, his own heart screaming in anguish that that was what he wished to vent from his own mouth. However, when he parted his lips, a scene from the past came back to him like a gag.

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><p>"<em>It cannot be. It cannot be …" Elladan said unhappily, closing his eyes. He was in his bed, holding brother's hand. Elrohir had told him all that had happened in the small meeting. Elladan had just awakened and the two of them were alone together in their room. Elladan was the smarter of the two, his level head always bringing the best ideas in difficult times. Seeing his brother in agony like this was not offering the youngest a very positive outlook. "Daerada cannot keep up your tutelage; not forever... He cannot... cannot separate us..."<em>

_The younger twin then sat on his brother's the bed, finally seeming to realize that the trap was wider than it seemed. He had not just snared Elladan in his trap, but had caught the entire family._

"_I will not let him do that. I'll talk to him... I'll... I'll do something, Ro..." Elladan shook his head in agony, while Elrohir's mind slowly made peace with the situation. He suddenly realized, before his brother did, that they were holding each others' hands._

"_I can go... but if you cannot be by my side, no one else will be, either," he said sadly._

_Elladan looked at him without understanding, and seeing the eyes of the youngest were already flooded with tears, he tried to get up, but Elrohir pushed him gently back down in his bed. He had already wounded his brother; he did not want to see Elladan get worse because he was unwise. He looked into his twin's eyes, holding his hand with force and determination._

"_I swear, Dan. I swear to you I'll find a solution to this... I... I do not know how, I do not know when, but I'll find it..." he said, then paused for a moment, as if reflecting on the strength of the promise he was making. It was too important and it should never be forgotten. No, he would not forget and would never give up, so he added to his solemn words, "I will not quit... and no one will hear my voice until I can correct what I did wrong, until I can fix what I messed up so I can be worthy again."_

_Elladan's eyes closed for a moment, as if his heart were empty. He then took a deep breath, looking at his brother with affection and sadness._

_"If they take you... No one will hear my voice, either..." he said with his hand over his heart. "And they will only hear it again, after hearing yours."_

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><p>Elrohir pressed his lips together, closing his teary eyes with emotions of many different types. Elladan. Elladan. Elladan. He missed his brother. He missed the certainties that only Elladan had; the patience, the wisdom. He missed Elladan and what his brother had always seen in him; the expectations he had of himself when Elladan was at his side.<p>

When his eyes reopened, the twin did not probe further down into his heart. He no longer thought of broken oaths or dead ends. He had left Rivendell with the help of his brother, knowing how much that sort of help would cost the noble Elladan. He had left Rivendell on a mission and a promise, and would see both fulfilled, or die trying.

With this assurance the boy turned his face up, looking at the branches—the ones that held steady, the ones that were loose, the ones that were bending. He measured risks, ignored pain, analyzed sounds. In seconds he was again living up to the name he had won; in seconds he was Elrohir again, _the elf warrior_ his father expected him to be.

Elrohir had courage, even though several times his hand almost missed the right branch, as he tried to get back up the cliff. At one point the sword also almost slipped from his hand, but he tried to keep it steady, using the hand that held it as a support in climbing.

Near the end of the journey he stopped for a moment, exhausted, and pressed his face against his outstretched arm, transferring part of the blood stain that colored it to his damp forehead. He had so many pains and fears that he no longer knew which one to try to fight. So he just continued on and on.

He started to go up again, like an automaton. When he felt as if his last strength was deserting him, he noticed a branch that stretched at the top of the cliff, as a gentle hand reaching out to rescue him. Elrohir looked at it with caution. Fear flooded him, but he finally decided to accept the help, even though his insecurity fed his fear.

The first thing he did, though he thought it might be unwise, was to set the sword on the ground above him as soon as he could, to try to finish the climb with both hands free. The edge of the cliff was slippery and there were few branches or recesses to support his feet. In the final stage of the climb he had to practically hang on with both hands and use only the force of arms and shoulders to bring his body up.

When he finally found himself stretched on solid ground again, relief and exhaustion left him no strength with which to stand. The sky above was still overcast and the few gaps in the clouds he had seen this morning had disappeared.

It would rain again. He had no doubt about that.

He had to get up. He knew it was what he had to do. He had no idea where the monster that had been pursuing him was, but he vaguely remembered hearing it from afar. Yet he did not know if it had given up its prey. Basically, he wanted to believe that the animal had fallen from the cliff; hopefully, it had been less fortunate than him.

Elrohir took a deep breath then, but before getting up, he looked at his wounds cautiously, so that he could find out their severity. They were extensive cuts, but did not seem deep. Some were still bleeding, others were painful, perhaps with traces of inflammation.

The twin dropped his chin to his chest , closing his eyes and remembering the bark of that tree that old _adan _lady in Bree had shown him and hoping to have the opportunity to find a sister of it here in _Tol Morwen_. Maybe there was one. Perhaps he might begin to have better luck. He needed some luck, at least to complete his task, then whatever happened after that would not matter.

These positive thoughts made him force himself up on his elbows and try to rise, at least to a sitting position. When he finally accomplished it between groans and grimaces of pain, he was surprised by the last image he hoped to see. A few steps from where he sat, peeking through scrub and brush and covered with moss and old leaves, stood a gray stone. Elrohir's eyes narrowed in disbelief at what he could read on it, even covered by the different forces of time.

They were ancient runes of Doriath, but what was revealed on the stone was too clear for the eyes of the tired twin to believe.

_TÚRIN TURAMBAR DAGNIR GLAURUNGA (Túrin, Conqueror of Fate, Slayer of Glaurung)_

Elrohir frowned and he started trembling as his eyes reread those words in astonishment several times, before slipping down the stone, to read the words that came just below the first inscription:

_NIENOR NÍNIEL_

Yes, her name was there though her body could not be found.

The twin then slowly rose, forgetting for the moment his sorrows and fears. When he stood, his legs wavered, and he came to fear that he could not take those last few steps. _Elbereth_, he had to be dreaming; it could only be a dream. It was impossible that his insane escape from the wolf had brought him into the most unlikely of places.

The Stone of the Hapless.

Túrin Turambar's tomb.

That idea was teasing him as he approached the grave. When he was almost in front of the huge stone he could see another to the west side, different in size and which did not have its inscription written in runes. Even from where he stood he was able to read, letter by letter, the message of a husband and a father who had come to this place too late, just in time to say goodbye to his loved one and bury her next to their two children.

_HERE LIES ALSO MORWEN EDHELWEN_

Said the last message of Húrin Thalion.

Morwen, Túrin's mother, whose name and grave remained upon the isle of _Tol Morwen_ after the drowning of _Beleriand_.

Everything was true. Every part of that sad story was really true…

Elrohir then felt another pain, a pain unlike any he had been feeling or had felt during his entire trip; a pain that put him on his knees again and made him break down in uncontrollable tears. The pain was not of his aching body or his injuries. There was nothing he could cover with a palm, point at with a finger, or translate in words that hurt him. He just put his hand on the tomb of the young warrior and let himself go, pouring out what was inside his heart. He wept for Túrin and Túrin's family, and for finally being free of the burden of his urgent quest.

He had arrived. He had finally arrived. His trip was over...

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers: <strong>world-classgeek, Gwedhiel0117, Marchwriter, shine lots, Evereven, Arien Arlorwen, eliza61, Lia Whyteleafe, melissamed, The Pearl Maiden, Duilin, SilvanShemesh, Pitybe, DreamingIn2Eternity . <strong>Many thanks to **Puxinette**, my kind and patient beta


	19. Other Hands - Part 1

Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XIX - OTHER HANDS<strong>

_"Although your steps may seem useless, keep opening trails, like water that flows singing down the hills. __Others will follow you__..."_

Antoine de Saint-Exupery

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><p><em>"You are a brave warrior, boy. The sword will not taste your blood,"<em> Elrohir heard in his sleep, leaning on his knees in front of the great gray stone. Somehow he knew who the figure was that stood at his side. He had long been trying to imagine him as he had been, but now that he seemed so close, he did not dare to open his eyes and face that _adan_ whose life had been ruined by a curse, but who had ultimately been transformed into a hero.

It was good to dream of Túrin Turambar, whose voice, even in a whispering tone, seemed to have the power of all the drums in the world.

_"You are brave, boy,"_ the twin then heard, as if the warrior was now crouched at his side, speaking almost in his ear. _"Come on, warrior! Come on! Wake up! Wake up!"_

Weird dream ... Why was he having this dream?

Elrohir raised his eyelids with difficulty; despite the urgent tone he had heard, he did not want to wake up. He was so tired. When he finally managed to make the world come into focus with his exhausted eyes, he realized that he had slept with the sword close to his chest...

Night had finally invaded the Hapless' Land.

The weapon was wet, this time with Elrohir's own blood. The wound made by the wolf was not closed, but after his short rest, the bleeding seemed to have diminished considerably, though it had stolen more than he might have to give.

The twin looked at the sword again. He could not see much by the dim light of the round moon, partially obscured by clouds, but it was enough to highlight the dark metal that now reflected the figure of its small master.

Elrohir exhaled and was invaded by a feeling that he had not felt until now; an affection for the weapon he carried, the weapon he had unearthed, he had reforged, and he had defended and used in his own defense... the weapon he'd learned to love. And that feeling filled him for a time, numbing the other pains, and the sword flashed, as if sharing the feeling of its new owner. A shadow of a smile lifted the corners of Elrohir's lips. It was a tired smile, but it was fruit of a heartwarming conclusion.

_"It's not just for me... I think, after all, the freedom will be a gift to both of us, don't you think so_?" he mentally asked and, as if in response, the sword shone again, making the twin drop his shoulders, relieved. All was coming to an end; it was what he felt and this thought nourished his weakened heart. If both he and the sword also became part of this tomb, it was no matter now. It was all finally going to end.

_It's done... done... _he mentally repeated, preparing himself to use the rest of his will and desire to finish the task he had to accomplish. He had to dig a pit and bury the sword again; the sword he also felt was bit of his own. He had to bury it, make his solemn apology and... feel free again...

Elrohir leaned his back against the cold stone, rising slowly and managing the pain and dizziness the movement caused. In back of the tomb the stone better reflected the moonlight, and he was able to analyze the place he needed to dig. He took two steps, yet when he removed his hand from the support of the stone, his desire was just not enough to keep him up on his feet, and he fell to the ground once again. He was back on his knees, doing his best to not lose consciousness. He put the sword aside and placed both hands on the soaked ground, using his fingers to dig at the grass that had grown up around the tomb. It did not take him long to realize that this would not be an easy task.

"_The most important wars are won through the small battles_."

Glorfindel's voice teased his mind, along with a few new drops of cold rain. Elrohir's eyes narrowed, his mixed feelings threatening to overwhelm him, and he tried to look at the cloudy sky. There were too many obstacles. Why, here at this final moment, could things not be done in a less difficult way?

"_Victories are built with the help of the soldier's smallest attitudes in times of exhaustion, in periods of unbelievable hardship_."

The image of Glorfindel reentered his mind, as his mentor completed one of those teachings that had the elflings rolling their eyes, looking as if they consulted the sky, as they waited through the final hours of training. Elrohir was one of those elflings. He had always been impatient and inquisitive, wanting to know the reason for everything. He had the right to an eternal life if he wanted to choose it, but he always lived as if he would be gone the next instant.

Now he was here, ironically repeating his master's lessons as a mantra. The sound of Glorfindel's voice gave him support, making him forgetful of questions and purposes. It armed him with the illusion that the blond warrior was at his side, encouraging him, as he had done several times in the past, in order to strengthen Elrohir for facing what he still had to accomplish.

That simple set of recollections was enough, and the young elf's hands moved into more of an effort. A puddle soon grew in front of him, tinged with brown and red. As the hole grew in diameter, swallowing water and the strength of its creator, Elrohir began to feel the chill of someone who digs his own grave. He attended a funeral only once in his life, but it was not an elf's. An _Edain_ caravan had been attacked and one of the members of the group, one that was very young and severely wounded, had come into the hands of the lord of Rivendell with his spirit ready to go, and his life had not been saved. Elrohir remembered well his father's expression and the song of farewell Elrond himself sang on the occasion. That night his mother explained to Elladan and him about the destiny of the _Edain_.

That day he also knew that his destiny was a decision he had to make one day...

Elrohir's head dropped forward, his hands now resting on the edge of the deep hole, with water almost to his elbows. His hair covered his face, the tips already submerged in the dark water. A cold wind brushed his bare back, giving him involuntary tremors.

But now there was little to do. He had to finish what he had started and not conjecture about his fate after that. He had no time for feelings of loss or regret. He had no time for longing.

Elrohir looked up and saw that the sky above the clouds had coalesced again, and had decided to punish the already well soaked ground once more. He stood a moment, feeling the icy raindrops slipping down his face. However, the water that fell did not have the same impact as it did before; it was like he'd stepped back from the world, saving his strength for his final act.

The sword was waiting in the grass, totally vanished now with the sudden absence of the moonlight. Elrohir reached for it and pulled the weapon closer. He felt along its shape one last time, measuring its size, wondering if the hole was large enough. Then he moved it to its final destination.

Although having everything in the whole world against him; the weather, the pain of his body and spirit; Elrohir felt something different from what he had imagined he would feel when he could finally take the time to notice. Even in the complete absence of light, he could see the sword engulfed in the tomb he had created. First he'd had doubt, but now he knew it would be possible to really feel what he was looking for: freedom. It was the sensation of freedom he sought; to be free of guilt, of self-loathing... to have peace again, even in this short length of time.

Unfortunately the moment of peace was very brief, not only because the boy knew he already had to find strength to finish the task, but because of what came when he was preparing to cover the pit. An unexpected sound escaped through the branches of the forest a short distance from him. At that moment the twin's elven hearing captured something he knew very well, a cautious breathing he'd heard for the first time right here on this island, and here he had learned to fear it with all his being.

For irony of fate or some other reason, the rain had stopped and, as if the moon had forced a gap between the heavy clouds, it shone on deadly fangs, now slathered in the saliva of pure delight, as they became visible in the darkness of the night.

Coming from behind a bush, the terrible wolf seemed quite pleased to again find its vanished prey...

This time Elrohir did not think to react or escape, because he could not even move. He wasn't afraid of that horrible monster this time. He closed his eyes, not believing in this unexpected obstacle and feeling no reason to try to get free from the beast. This could not be true... Not at this moment... Not so near the end... It seemed that the Valar did not consider him worthy enough to complete his mission; that was all it could be. He did not deserve a chance for redemption, to apologize... to feel forgiven.

The twin felt his body go numb as this fact sank in. He was invaded by resignation, as he listened to the aggressor approaching slowly, step by step. Elrohir had the scent of the wet forest about him. He smelled of blood and death."

It was, however, as he felt his time expire, that the young elf warrior's spirit decided to insist on reminding him that self-pity never really fit his temperament. Elrohir still wanted to deny that feeling, shaking his head vigorously, trying unsuccessfully to get rid of that stupid hope, that desire to raise his guard, to stand tall and not crumble... to not give up. But that wish grew in his chest, rebellious, uncontrollable, just like he was, and the sword came to be in his hands once more while he stood to face his executioner once last time.

The instincts of the wolf made the animal leap in the dark to avoid the direct conflict, but Elrohir hit it on the left side, stealing a howl of pain from the beast before he slipped with the huge sword in hands and fell again. The animal also rolled a few feet, but soon stood, ignoring his injury and even more furious than he'd been before. Elrohir stood with difficulty, raising the weapon again.

They were face to face, once more, the oddest of enemies. The wolf growled in the dark night, its ears upright, while it warily paced around its prey, as if searching for a crack in a solid mountain. Elrohir tried his best to keep the sword held high, but now it trembled in his hands. That feeling brought the boy a distressing flash of memory: the image of another time when he could not keep the great sword up, and what happened when it slipped in his hands.

Poor Elladan...

Maybe it would be better if that stupid beast swallowed him at once! Elrohir realized he was getting angry with himself again. _Elbereth,_ when would that hatred disappear? When? Would he have to lose his life to remember what it was like to have a little peace, he wondered. He stared at the blurred image of the wolf, who growled, walking stealthily from side to side in front of him, clearly searching for a better opportunity to attack.

The twin blinked a few times, trying to keep up, but feeling that his energy was exhausted, as was his desire to win and his hope to come back; even his thirst for freedom was fading. He was very tired of everything; tired of believing and realizing he was wrong, tired of having to think of a way out, tired of feeling so much pain.

The beast seemed to notice the weakness and hesitation of its prey, so it waited, showing white teeth and moving its lips slightly, as if talking to himself. Elrohir continued staring at it, even though he could see the weapon wavering in his grip. He now held it with both hands together, but even so he was not able to keep it upright and steady.

It was too much for him... He could not continue. He had no energy and now he began to realize that, ironically, the end of this nightmare would be the same as its beginning. The sword became too heavy for him and, like the first time that he had raised it, it tipped forward without him being able to stop it, slipping from his hands, but this time it had no victim.

The victim this time would be him. But he was not sure if he actually cared about that now. He felt so much pain. Now he was only sorry to have taken the sword from the grave he'd dug. What a strange destiny. Now the weapon would fall somewhere else again, like when the soldier had found it in Rivendell.

The air swarmed around him and he shuddered, falling to his knees. He knew what was coming in his direction, creating this breeze in an outburst of sheer terror. He could feel the ominous breath, anticipating the pain those claws would give him again. Would the beast throw him somewhere? Would it play sadistically with him as if he were a toy?

It should have already been upon him. When would it come?

Then the air moved again, and Elrohir, anticipating the blow, instinctively curled up in a ball. But instead, the place was taken by howling, yelping and other strange sounds that made him afraid to open his eyes.

But he did, and what the sparse light revealed to him was the last thing he imagined seeing...

There was someone else here... A warrior. And he brandished a sword, battling valiantly against the beast, which snarled, moving its body forward then back, lifting the front paws and looking for a way to turn the situation in its own favor.

Someone else was here. Here on this empty island. Here in the Hapless' land...

Elrohir was petrified before the image of someone so skilled. The shining sword sliced the air again and again. Its owner quickly escaped the assaults of his adversary, while he continued to focus his efforts on containing the aggressor, as if he were trying to stop the wolf from approaching the grave.

The wolf was huge, even against a challenging adult. The animal seemed incredibly angry. Its teeth were shining under its wrinkled nose. Its face was a shapeless blur now, only the fangs and eyes could win the dark night. It let out all sorts of sounds of protest and threat, seeking to intimidate the new enemy.

The warrior, however, showed no sign of hesitation, even with the size and aggressiveness of the opponent confronting him. He continued to stand up to the animal as he could, even in his arduous attempt to stop it from achieving the goal it seemed to be relentlessly pursuing: its original prey, near the tomb.

On several occasions the creature jumped, trying to take the warrior by surprise and knock him down. At one point, Elrohir came to think the beast had been successful, but the stranger purposely escaped in a perfect and synchronized movement, only to get up in time to reach the animal, when it passed over him, and give it one of the most disastrous landings. The beast rolled on the soaked ground with a yelp.

The fight, however, had not ended. Even wounded, the animal quickly rose again, as if it had overcome the pain of the new injury, and threw itself against its aggressor, not seeming to measure any consequence. It appeared blinded by fury, now indifferent to pain and to the warrior's sword.

What followed were more moments of sheer agony, filled with the sounds of the weapon cutting the air and the intimidating screams of beast.

It was as if the fight would never have an end, until the unbelievable happened: during one moment of the conflict, the warrior moved the sword forward in front of his body, keeping it in a horizontal line and holding it with both hands. It was a precise act, as if, suddenly, the future had become very clear to him.

Suddenly the animal moved against the warrior, even more insane than it had been before. It seemed as if the beast wanted to use the violent movement as an intimidating and ultimate weapon.

This time, however, the opponent did not shrink back as he had before; he remained where he was, bravely awaiting the arrival of the great enemy, and merely trying to restrain it with the sword before him. The wolf may not have expected such a reaction; perhaps it didn't believe that someone had the power to contain it that way with a weapon. But the warrior proved to be a worthy rival, swiftly thrusting the sword at the last moment, and with a muffled shriek of surprise and pain from the animal, the sharp blade was buried deep in its chest.

It was finished...

Silence returned to prevail in that sacred place.

Complete silence...  
>Unbelievable... Unbelievable... Elrohir could only repeat that word to himself, while his body seemed to melt slowly, as the emotion of the fight slipped away, cushioned by the certainty that the nightmare was ended. The winner of the difficult duel was still standing, watching the fallen beast, making sure there was no more danger. But he was beginning to seem so far away...<p>

What an extraordinary and difficult fight. That was what occupied the mind of the astonished twin, who continued to look at the final scene as someone who does not believe what he's seen, thinking that deep down it all just might be a dream; a good dream which might not be worth waking up from.

It was only at the instant when the stranger turned to face him again that Elrohir felt a sudden fear that maybe this dream would not come to the good end he'd imagined. His concern doubled when he saw the warrior running toward him. He tried to get up, but had no strength to flee. All he could do then was to shrink back, fearing what was to come. When he felt hands on him, arms surrounding him with urgency, he tried to react again, but the voice that accompanied these movements made things extremely confusing.

_"Ion-nîn!"_

Elrohir startled, a moment of bewilderment and incomprehension going through him, but then his deepest instincts forced him to close his eyes tight in his own defense. He had to protect himself, he could not believe for a moment in this absurd suggestion. No... Not for one moment ... Of all the strange dreams of which he had been a prisoner since he had left his home, this was the most unjust of them all. He did not want to hear that voice, not that voice... It was not fair to have a hallucination like this, only to awaken in the same horrible reality he had been in for so long... It was not fair... It was not...

But the same hands, more cautious this time, brought him close, caressing his hurt chest, checking the sad picture that the darkness seemed to be trying to hide.

"It is alright, _ion-nîn_. Trust me. Everything will be alright..."

Elrohir opened his eyes again, more slowly this time, trying to accept this strange truth in the almost total absence of light. In fact, he would not need any light to know who was here, even as difficult as it was to believe. He would never need any help to recognize this person, whose warmth seemed to bring him back to life...

However, something was wrong. Something had to be wrong. He could not believe this idea. He could not believe this warrior, the one warrior who had faced that terrible beast; this warrior was… his father. The warrior who had felled the terrible beast was... was his father? How was that possible? How had he come to be here? How?

Had he come for him?

_Elbereth_... Yes. His father had come after him. He had come to save him. His father crossed same path that Elrohir had, to save him and had faced that deadly monster... for him.

"Shh, it's alright, my child." Elrond now had him leaning against his chest, seeming to feel the tremors brought on by all the thoughts weaving themselves through the boy's exhausted mind. But Elrohir was concentrating only on the quickly drumming heart he heard. His father's heart. That sound finally made him believe that everything was real. He moved his hands, gripping his father's clothes, as if the Elf-lord might disappear. "Everything is fine, my dear boy. Be at peace now."

Elrohir hesitated, seeming to not believe his ears, but Elrond kept repeating the sentences, his certainties as a healer, until the young elf could not resist his father's quiet tone. It was a tone he had heard since childhood and that had always brought him the same sense of peace and security, regardless of where they were. He felt his body relax at last, as he hadn't since he'd left home. The extreme fatigue did not lead him to the realm of the unconscious only because he was startled by a sudden light illuminating the glade they were in. He had not stood up with fright because Elrond was still holding him close. The Elf-lord lifted his sword in the direction from whence the light came. It did not take much time, however, until he lowered the weapon with a sigh.

"You should not have come, _mellon-nîn,_" he heard his father say to someone who was approaching.

"I heard a sound that I could not distinguish," said the newcomer, and Elrohir finally saw him, cautiously getting closer to the beast that his father had killed. It was an elf with hair as bright as the moon. "_Ilúvatar_, I wish I could be wrong. What is this creature doing here?"

"I do not know if I want to know," Elrond said, sighing deeply. "I just hope it is the only one."

"They do not usually go in groups..." the other said, finally turning to his friend. Elrohir trembled again when the elf came and crouched in front of them. "Have you found him then?"

Elrond smiled patiently, then looked at the frightened child, in whose face he could read so many sad and worrying things. He could see that his son only wanted to flee, and as quickly as possible. Still, he placed a cautious hand on the wounded boy's chest, trying to give him some energy, as he again looked at his friend.

"Círdan, this is the youngest of my twin sons: Elrohir," he said, and then turned to face his son, whose eyes had been rounded at the newcomer's illustrious name. "Elrohir, this is Lord Círdan, from the Haven city."

Elrohir swallowed hard, oblivious to his pain. In all the lessons he had learned from his mentor and parents, one character had always been so outstanding for him. Círdan, the Shipwright, the Lord of the Seas, the Chosen of _Ulmo_, the Unborn. Círdan was here and his father called him a friend...

"Hello, Elrohir." The elf smiled, placing his strong hand to the elfling's head with care."This journey of yours will turn into verses one day, for sure."

Elrohir was intrigued with the comment, but then offered a brief and tired smile.

A flash of lightning then made the two lords of elves look to the sky, and the roaring sound that followed it made Círdan stand immediately.

"We have to go as soon as possible," he said and Elrond just nodded.

All the motion brought Elrohir to a conclusion that stole the little joy aroused by the so fabulous situation. He immediately broke free from his father's arms, who at first tried to restrain him, but then at the extreme insistence of the boy, just let him walk away, limiting himself to monitoring his son's painful movement, while trying to understand what was happening.

The twin picked up the dropped weapon and started to drag himself away. At first Elrond only observed with fascination, but after a few seconds he tried again to approach and was surprised to see his son vehemently raise one hand.

"_Ion-nîn_, what has happened?" he inquired without understanding. However, when he noticed that his son had dug a grave, the intent of that act was clear to him. "No... You cannot do this, Elrohir..." he said reluctantly. "This place is sacred... If you violate this tomb, you will be committing a serious crime, child."

Elrohir just shook his head in response, in his face a mixture of pain and anguish. He nervously pointed to the hole he had dug and showed the weapon in his hand to his father. Elrond frowned, but it was Círdan who seemed willing to translate the purpose of the child.

"He just wants to bury the weapon. He does not want to check if the hero is or is not with his sword."

Elrond felt his chin soften. Elrohir had made this dangerous and exhausting journey just to leave the sword in the Hapless land, even though he had the chance to prove his innocence? He did not intend to open the tomb and see if _Gurthang_ was with its last owner, Túrin Turambar?

The confirmation was in the boy's face, whose bright eyes were fixed on him with a determination that said more than any words could.

"Even so, my child..." Elrond said with patience and affection. He lamented at seeing his son raise his stained hands at his approach. "Any violation of this ground is a crime. We cannot solve the problem this way."

Elrohir seemed to hesitate at first with those words, but then refused to accept their meaning. When Elrond tried to approach, the twin's eyes filled with tears and despair, but he clenched his jaw closed, ignoring both feelings and shaking his head vigorously, immediately putting the sword into the hole with no indecision.

Elrond pressed his lips together. He was again finding himself in one of those terrible dilemmas destiny seemed to take special pleasure into placing him. He took a deep breath, but finally grabbed his child's wrists, preventing him from carrying out the task he was bent on doing. He grimaced as he watched the boy use his last ounce of strength to try to escape.

_Elbereth_, how many problems had Elrohir faced, only to confront his father, who was trying to prevent him from getting what he wanted, virtually as his last act?

"Forgive me, ion-nîn," he said, hugging the child carefully as Elrohir finally stopped struggling, even though he continued to tremble nervously in his arms. "I cannot allow it... We... we will face what we must side by side, my son. I will never leave you, nor will I let you be taken away from me again... I give you my word, _ion-nîn_... But do not add more violations onto our shoulders."

Elrohir did not respond, this time he did not even look at his father. He was quiet now, strangely quiet. Elrond then took a deep breath, pulling him around, so that he could see the boy in the light that Círdan had brought. But Elrohir did not look at him, leaning his head resignedly on his father's chest; his face was so sad that Elrond felt the desire not to look at him, so that he did not have to wonder what his son was thinking and feeling.

"Everything will be alright. Trust me, _ion-nîn_," he tried to say, but the boy did not react to those words. His body was cold, and he seemed now fully resigned to his fate, like a drowning person who does not seem to be aware that he'd finally found the beach. Maybe he was feeling exactly like that. Maybe his father was no longer the safe haven he had always been. Perhaps, after all, he was still feeling condemned...

Elrond briefly closed his eyes, understanding better than he wished the bitter feeling of injustice and despair. He had also felt the awful weight of condemnation. He then looked to the shallow grave where the sword could be seen, even though it was partially submerged in the water that had invaded the hole. Beside him Círdan had crouched, slowly stroking Elrohir's leg. The Shipwright seemed to also sense the very absurd crossroads at which they sat.

So when Elrond's eyes searched Cirdan's, it looked as if the older elf did not know what to say for once.

Elrond then closed his eyes, hugging Elrohir close to him. How could he still be upset, even after he had found his son, almost miraculously? Something was wrong with this story. It had started wrongly and errors of all types kept mixing into it, stirring it into an increasingly vile mixture. He then dropped his shoulders, as he thought about what he could do and whether any plan he might think of could be considered an error; and if he made errors, the weight of each mistake. But as he looked into his friend's eyes, he felt as if Círdan already knew what he would say.

"Círdan... _mellon-nîn_. I am eternally grateful for the help you have given me. I now ask you to go to your ship and worry no more, because it seems that this story will not end as we expected. However, even with no way out to my son and I that I can see, I will do everything possible so that, at least, we will have peace."

The Shipwright frowned, not understanding, and so did the boy in his father's arms. It was only when Elrond smiled at his son that Elrohir understood the meaning of what his father had said. The boy parted his lips, surprised, but a small glow was back to his skin, like a ray of hope. Círdan also understood well the intentions of his friend, so he swallowed that conclusion without questioning its taste. He stood up then, getting a last glimpse of the lord of Rivendell, but taking a deep breath in resignation.

"You know the way, Elrond," he said firmly. "I will not question what happens here, but if you are not on the ship with the break of day, I will come and get you both."

And Círdan was telling the truth. Maybe that's why Elrond came back reluctantly before dawn, bringing his son onto the ship. The Shipwright helped them to embark in silence and the sea also seemed to have found a quiet peace, as the father and his child had. Círdan left them alone in the cabin while steering the ship back to port. When they were in open sea, a figure took his side at the helm.

"Has he fallen asleep at last?" he asked.

"He slept as soon as he got warm. I do not think he will wake up until we get there. I do not know how he got as far as he did in the state he is in."

Círdan said nothing, he just watched the sad figure of his friend, with the sunrise emphasizing Elrond's silhouette.

"You will be in Haven with us," he dictated. "At least until your people come to get you. That will happen for sure. I think they will soon be willing to part ways with those silly laws."

Elrond bowed his head.  
>"That will not happen. The nobles who were my allies when I founded the city in the valley have something my heart cherishes greatly. What they do they do for me, because they know that's how I wanted it done."<p>

"But this is nonsense. You are innocent."

"We are not, Círdan. You know that."

"The sword belonged to the boy. That is how it would appear to anyone who pays attention to the facts, even the stupid ones on your council. How do you think a child of that age did what he did? Only the owner of _Gurthang_ could have it brought here, only he could have held it. What happened, happened by the will of the weapon. The sword was acting independently of your son's desires; it made him its instrument."

"Those are legends..."

"The legends are the result of a reality whose interpretation is difficult to accept, _mellon_. You know that."

Elrond shook his head briefly. "We do not even know whether or not it's Eöl's sword," he said. "How could it have left here and crossed territory of this size? Who would have brought it?"

"We don't have all the answers. But the fact that we do not have them does not invalidate the conclusion we have."

"We do not have any conclusion, Círdan. We cannot have it. We do not have enough evidence for that."

"We do not have it because you and your son were too noble to violate the hero's tomb. That is something that would have occurred to anyone else in the situation you were in."

Elrond covered his face with his right hand, massaging it slowly, then dropped both hands onto the railing of the deck.

"It does not matter anymore... All I want is to be with him, no matter where, no matter whether we are accepted or not. My only wish now is to find a place to live , bringing and then bringing Celebrian and Elladan to join us, if she still wants to be by my side... I want to ensure that we are a family again."

Círdan stared at his friend for a moment, feeling extreme difficulty in interpreting what he read in Elrond's tired face. He then asked:

"If what you say is true, why do I still sense an extreme weight on your shoulders, Elrond?"

"For no reason..." Elrond answered, avoiding the truth. "I'm still worried about him... That's all..."

"Are you worried about the boy? Why? Are his injuries serious?"

"There is no more serious risk... It will take a little while for him to recover with his spirit sad as it is, but he will. Especially if we're all together again."

"I am sure that this is your wife's will as well. Is that what worries you? Do you think she might not want to accompany you?"

Elrond was silent, slowly exhaling, then shook his head in a small negative.

"She will come..." he said. "For that I am grateful. For what unites us. We shall solve these problems and find a place to live."

Círdan smiled, but concern for his friend continued to worry him. Elrond seemed very depressed, not that there wasn't reason for him to be. But there was something beyond the facts, Círdan knew, that bothered the Elf-lord, who not only had the disposition of one of the bravest warriors, but also the patience of the most experienced of the elves.

"Everything will turn out well, I'm sure. I still see you back in the realm of the valley, to the realm you envisioned, my dear friend," Círdan said, and Elrond smiled sadly as a response and reinforced it by a brief nod. But both reactions did not seem to satisfy the Lord of the ships, whose gaze was still trying to unravel the weary face of his friend.

"I want to be with him... and I hope that nothing more worries him..." Elrond said then, as if talking to himself, and Círdan, even without understanding exactly why, felt that that phrase was the crux of the problem afflicting his dark-haired friend.

"He loves you," he dared to say and was surprised to see Elrond's eyes shine with sorrow. "Elrond... You do not doubt it, do you, _mellon_? You came to him, saved him, helped him to evade an old law to bury the sword in holy ground, to free yourselves.. He loves you deeply; anyone who has seen how he looks at you would agree with what I say."

Elrond just shook his head, then sighed deeply.

"It always turns out this way..." The words escaped through his barely parted lips, but to Círdan at his side, they seemed as if they could be full of meaning.

"What do you mean, _mellon-nîn_?"

Elrond did not respond; he just shook his head again.

"Tell me what ails you, Elrond. As tired as you are now, we tend to find problems where there are none, but also neglect those small things which can prove troublesome later," Círdan advised, but when he thought the other Elf-lord might be elusive, Elrond looked at him with deep regret.

"Elrohir always seems to escape my sight..." he said, his face hard, seeming to have extreme difficulty getting the words thought his lips. "It seems I am doomed to see his pain and suffering only when the situation is extreme."

"What are you talking about?"

Elrond looked at the sea in front of him. The waves rolled sadly. The morning sun reflected its rays in the mirror of the waters. Círdan waited for his answer for a while, until Elrond seemed willing to grant it.

"When my children were to come into the world, I made the only mistake I thought could never happen to me."

Círdan was intrigued, but then raised his eyebrows as if to remember an old story.

"You told me about what happened, do you remember? When I was in your land. You even said that you had never revealed what you had told me to anyone else."

Elrond stood motionless, as if indeed he remembered well the scene his friend was referring to, but his silence only made the elf at his side more fascinated.

"You are talking about the fact that you made a mistake about the time of your children's birth and you also did not know they were twins, aren't you?" Círdan sought to confirm if they were talking about the same episode, and when Elrond just nodded his head, he continued analyzing his friend's sad expression in search of why he was in such distress. He recalled the story he'd heard in the past, word by word of that honest confession. He remembered Elrond's troubled look, pulling each memory like a thorn.

"They were twins... There were two..." Elrond commented in a tone so low that the other elf could hardly hear him.

"Yes. You did not know there were two children," Círdan repeated. "You made a mistake in your diagnosis, but that was it, wasn't it? You thought that it was only one baby, and to my knowledge, you were not alone in this mistake. Your wife took the same view as you did, in addition to her parents. No one knew there were two."

Elrond looked down, squeezing the rigid timber upon which he leaned, another move that Círdan did not understand. The Shipwright carefully re-examined the whole story he had heard in the past, until a strange conclusion took his thoughts.

"Was it the presence of your youngest that you judged you did not notice, _mellon-nîn_?" Círdan asked already shaking his head at the idea that seemed absurd to him. But Elrond took a deep breath, implying that his friend was very efficient in his conclusion. The Shipwright closed his eyes briefly, shaking his head unhappily again. "Elrond. How can you martyr yourself for that?" he asked patiently. "Even if it were true. You were there for him, weren't you? Was it not your hands as a healer who received him, mellon?"

Elrond closed his eyes, leaving a silence that made Círdan begin to think that early morning wasn't as enlightening as he had always believed. He took his right hand away from the rudder, resting it on his friend's shoulder. Elrond stood still for a while, then looked down to the soaked deck.

"When Elladan was born into my hands, he could hardly breathe, his airways were completely obstructed. I've seen some _Edain_ children born like that, but never an elf. I turned then to help him, and Idhrenniel accompanied me. I do not think it took me more than the singing of a verse to get from him the sound I wanted, but the moment I heard his subtle baby babbling complaints, other ones echoed immediately behind me. When I turned, there was another child in Celebrian's arms of... Another identical to the first baby..." Elrond interrupted his tale, then covered his face with one hand.

Círdan had a moment of pure astonishment. That sad image was transformed into a perfect picture before him, even against his will. He was speechless, looking for something useful to say but not finding anything.

"Do you feel guilty for not being there at that moment, Elrond?" he just asked, giving his friend's shoulder slight shake. "And what about all the other moments that came after that, _mellon-nîn_? And what about today? Everything has a reason, even if we do not understand what it is."

"The question is not whether I feel guilty or not, Círdan." Elrond seemed frustrated and the extremely sensitive issue was not making him feel better. "What happened was that I lost the confidence in my judgment about what concerns him. I was dumbfounded... petrified… in front of that little baby... When I came to myself, it was to find it was he who raised his little arms to me as if to say: _Ada, I'm here... I'm here too_..."

He finished his vehement outburst with a hard shake of his head, then sighed again, moving his eyes to the image of the coast which began to be visible on the horizon. When Círdan's hand tightened again on his shoulder, he was unwilling to face his friend. For respect and consideration, he did so anyway.

"There is something positive in your story, _mellon_," Círdan said with a very serious look. "Something which might alleviate your concerns."

"What would that be?"

"He raised his arms to you... I believe that in every extreme situation, this attitude can always be expected from your son," Círdan answered, and a serene smile formed on his face, adding to those words a tone of simple truth. "I think if you do not realize that he needs your help, he will make you know... in some way."

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><p>When Elrond returned to the cabin, he noticed that his son had moved on the couch on which he had been left. He was now turned onto his side, his face hidden against the wall. Elrond approached slowly, kneeling next to him carefully.<p>

"You should not be in this position, child," he said in a whisper, cautiously pulling the boy toward him to lie on his back. "What happened? Can you not sleep, even after everything that you have been through, _ion-nîn_? You must be tired. Surely you wish for sleep more than I want you do it."

Elrohir did not answer. He had now almost closed eyelids and an air of extreme exhaustion on his pale face. Elrond frowned, trying to figure out what was bothering his son. It had been a surprise to find him awake, especially after medication. It was evident that the boy was struggling now to keep his eyes open.

"Were you scared because you did not find me here when you woke up?" He wanted to know, trying to use a mild tone in his voice. "Forgive me, _ion-nîn_. I was on the deck talking to our friend. I did not intend to leave you alone for long, and I could hear you from where I was."

Elrohir did not answer, nor even look at his father. He did not seem frightened or angry, just saddened. Elrond was concerned, but could not ask anything else, as the boy grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him closer. Elrond let himself be led, trying to understand what the child wanted. He rose a little, but started to worry when he noticed the child trying to do the same.

"You cannot stand yet, child. You..." He still wanted to advise Elrohir, but stopped when he realized that all his son wanted was for him to sit on the couch beside him. When Elrond agreed, he was surprised to see the boy curl up against him, almost in his lap, embracing him with the least compromised arm and resting his head on his father's chest.

Elrond was speechless; he knew that this was not the most favorable position for Elrohir's injuries, and that there would surely be unnecessary pain if the young elf remained in this pose. But Elrohir closed his eyes tightly as soon as he had put his arm around his father, not allowing Elrond to oppose him; The healer was greatly moved by the pitiful condition of his son. He put his hand cautiously on the boy's back, stroking it slowly while singing a song softly, almost without moving his lips. In his mind the words of Círdan sounded again.

_"I think if you do not realize that he needs your help, he will make you know... in some way."_

Yes. Maybe his friend was right. Perhaps for the time being there was nothing much to worry about.

* * *

><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers: <strong>elrond peredhel, <strong>**world-classgeek, Gwedhiel0117, DreamingIn2Eternity, Duilin, shine lots, Evereven, Arien Arlorwen, pipilo, Glory Bee, Lia Whyteleafe, SilvanShemesh, eliza61, melissamed, The Pearl Maiden, Pitybe . **Many thanks to **Puxinette**, my kind and patient beta


	20. Other Hands - Part 2

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

This is a short chapter. Hope you like it.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XX - OTHER HANDS – PART II<strong>

_My friends are my estate._  
>- Emily Dickinson<p>

* * *

><p>Elrond didn't know how long it took him to follow his son's example and get lost in much needed sleep. He would still be abed if the sound of voices on the deck had not called his attention. He could distinguish one voice in particular, even speaking in whispers as it was.<p>

"I will tell you what I believe, Mahtan, _mellon-nîn_. I believe we need to go into a conflict of some kind. Preferably a very serious one, involving weapons and armies. We are too idle lately; that must be why we waste time on trifles and stand against each other."

"Círdan, my leader, you have the right to not like what I say, but you cannot deny my reason. The laws do not exist only to fill papers that rest on dusty shelves."

"I do not question the laws, only the rigid interpretation some people give to them."

"Do you realize you offend me for no reason? Do you judge me unable to interpret our own laws?"

"I do not wish to offend you; I just want to make you review the wording and the real purpose behind the laws, so the truth will not be indigestible to you for any reason."

Elrond frowned, worried. He slid a bit away from his son so he could get up and try to find out what was going on without waking Elrohir. When he left the cabin he met two elves whose voices he had already recognized: Círdan and Mahtan. Mahtan was one of the shipwright's trusted assistants, and the two of them were talking very seriously on the deck of the ship. Beyond them stood Eilafion and Galdor, the messenger of the city, and both of them were extremely quiet.

"Círdan. You deny us what is a right by law. You know that."

"I do not deny you any rights. I'm only calling you to reason. Something, I confess, I never imagined myself needing to do."

Elrond watched the counselor grow pale. He himself had never seen his grey-haired friend in such a state as this. Even in times of war, Círdan was among the most consistently calm leaders he had ever met. What could be robbing him of his patience now?

The reason became clearer to Elrond as soon as Mahtan noted the healer's presence. The counselor took a deep breath, as if the answer to the reproach he had heard from his leader had gotten stuck in his throat. Elrond thought that the Elf-lord might dissolve into a coughing fit, considering the look of his reddened cheeks, but he kept that idea to himself, merely crossing his hands in front of his body and waiting to be enlightened.

Círdan, who had his back to the cabin door, only then seemed to realize what had happened and turned to look over his shoulder at his friend.

"I apologize if we disturbed you, Elrond. I hope we have not awakened the boy too," he said, moving away a few steps, but not going far.

"Elrohir is still asleep. Do not worry, please," Elrond said, but his expression then turned puzzled. "I fear I am interrupting an important discussion..." he added cautiously. "May I be of some help?"

"You surely may." Mahtan stepped forward, and he received the glower he seemed to be awaiting from the master of the ships.

"We will discuss it later," Círdan promptly dictated, but Elrond drew closer, his eyebrows in a deep V.

"What is the problem, Círdan? Please tell me. What has happened?"

"That is what we want to know, Lord Elrond," the counselor said in an interrogating tone, bringing the attention immediately back to him. "I'm here to ask our leader a simple clarification, but the answer has been denied to me."

"What would the question be, Lord Mahtan?" Elrond had replied using the same inquiring tone as the elf with the brown hair and austere face. He'd known Mahtan for some time too, long enough to know that the Elf-lord only left his office when the question was of extreme urgency. Despite the arrogant tone that his Sindar ancestry had given him as an inheritance, he was one of the most sober-minded elves in the region.

The counselor parted his lips to reply, but he was restrained at first, by the unfriendly look he received from his leader. The elf, though, was not intimidated. Breathing deeply and taking some steps forward, he stopped in front of Elrond.

"You know I have a deep respect for you, Lord Elrond," he started, and his words brought a sickly dread to the healer's stomach. Whatever was wrong, it would be better if the elf would not cling to unnecessary detours to clear it up.

"We've known each other long enough to dispense with such diplomacy, Lord Mahtan," Elrond said a bit impatiently, making the other elf press his lips together. Even so, he Mahtan still did not seem daunted.

"The people of the city want to know if you have been in _Tol Morwen_," reported the other so quickly and sincerely that Elrond was impressed by Mahtan's temerity.

"You ask me a question the answer of which you are certainly already aware, Lord Mahtan," Elrond replied instantly, continuing to look directly at the elf he was addressing.

"I need to hear it from you, Lord Elrond. And I also need to hear what you did in the Hapless Land."

"You do not need to answer, Elrond," Círdan interrupted.

"Obviously he needs to," Mahtan said, his voice slightly raised. "The presence of anyone in that land is prohibited. Everyone knows that."

Elrond was silent, not knowing for sure what the wisest course of action would be. He understood the impasse at which both he and his friend now found themselves. He slid his eyes over the deck. He didn't know how long the boat had been docked, but he heard a sound that surpassed all others, a sound that concerned him. He took a few steps then, coming close to the side of the ship. What he had been hearing were the murmurs of some of the townspeople, who were now crowded at the port, as if they awaited important information. They fell silent, though, as soon they saw the image of Elrond on the deck of the vessel.

"These are my people." The hand of Círdan was soon on his arm, pulling him subtlety away from the railing. "But sometimes they act like fools."

"They're just defending the rights of those who can no longer do so," Mahtan said indignantly. "That land is the resting place for much more than just an _Edain_ family, Círdan. It is a symbol of change suffered by our entire land and of which we could have been victims somehow. When we agreed that no one would ever tread there again, I do not remember hearing your objection."

"I did not object because in my thoughts the law was intended to prevent the place from being looted. The law defended it against usurpers that would treat it with disrespect."

"There are many ways to disrespect a land."

"I agree, but among them is not a boy risking himself in a raft, overcoming all of our means of protecting the place, and then leaving a weapon there that he thought did not belong to him."

"Who can now judge what is and is not disrespectful? So I can also go there and leave what I do no longer want, for some reason, on the island? Besides, who owned such a weapon?"

"It belonged to Túrin Turambar," Círdan said with conviction.

"Círdan." Elrond took his arm. "We can not affirm such a thing."

"Nor can we deny it is fact."

"Of course we can," Mahtan said. "How could the weapon of a dead hero leave the place of his burial without anyone's knowledge?"

"I do not know." Círdan was resolute. "Maybe, perhaps, in the same way a boy passed among all our boats on a children's raft without being seen."

"That is absurd!" Mahtan dropped his arms in exasperation, clapping his hands against his legs. "What has stolen your wisdom, Círdan? I've never seen you be so obtuse."

"I will tell you what has stolen my wisdom: the fragile image of a child crossing a continent alone, carrying and defending a weapon of almost his own size and facing unimaginable dangers. And he did it only because he wanted to redeem himself for a mistake; he wanted to return something that did not belong to him to the person he believed to be the owner. And he did it without caring about the risk to his own life. That should be proof enough, even for you, my dear friend. To be honest, Mahtan, I believe that the image of that boy, injured, frightened, but still determined to finish his mission, even though everyone, including his own father was against it, did not steal my wisdom; in fact it gave me wisdom. It gave me a feeling of gratification that I judged I had lost."

Mahtan first parted his lips, surprised by that clamorous speech, but then he clenched his teeth so hard that Eilafion and Galdor looked at each other with expressions of worry on their faces. However, when he was about to answer, something silenced him, stealing the color from his face. Elrond turned in the direction in which Mahtan's eyes focused and discovered the reason of such consternation: Standing, leaning on the door of the cabin, was his youngest son, barefoot on the still damp deck, his half-open shirt exposing the bandages that still covered his chest and abdomen. There were signs of bleeding, which did not seem completely stopped. Elrohir looked down when he realized he was being watched, but then took a deep breath, casting a worried glance at his father.

Elrond did not hesitate; he left the center of that conflict and stepped forward toward his son, standing in front of him and holding him gently by the shoulders.

"Why are you up, child? Go back to bed. Everything is well. You don't have to be worried."

Elrohir nodded in response, looking at Mahtan, who returned the boy's gaze with what looked like embarrassment. Now, seeing the boy who, until then, had only been the nameless source of an inconceivable problem, and taking in the child's extreme fragility and associating it to the information he already had, the words of Círdan seemed to gain more sense than he would care to admit. It seemed he was going to be forced to reconsider his stance. It was really a remarkable story, one which he would not even slightly believe, if he had not been standing here seeing the child for himself. Elrohir stood looking at him a moment longer, then turned to his father.

"Everything is well," Elrond ensured, noting the pallor of his son's face. "Do not worry, _ion-nîn_."

Elrohir shook his head sadly, then rested his hand on his chest and made a gesture toward the exit of the deck. Elrond frowned without understanding.

"Do you want us to leave now?" He asked, watching as Mahtan cast a puzzled look at Círdan, like someone who is confused and wants to understand a specific situation, and the Shipwright told him about the boy's vow of silence. But Elrohir did not notice anything else, he just shook his head again and placed his hand on his chest. Then he pointed to Elrond and repeated the gesture of denial. This time his father understood well what the boy meant. "No, Elrohir. I'll be with you, child. You will not go anywhere without me."

Elrohir shook his head again, lifting his wrists now and putting them together in a gesture that brought chills to his father's spine, then he tapped twice on his chest.

Elrond took a deep breath to respond. That idea was so terrible that he did not want to repeat it, if only to contradict it.

"Elrohir. Nobody will take you anywhere."

The boy pressed his teeth together tightly, then began to repeat the gesture. This time his father stopped him, holding his wrists.

"Nobody will arrest you, _ion-nîn_," he said flatly. "You are a child."

Unfortunately that choice of argument was not the best one Elrond could have chosen. Rather than ease the situation, the comment woke a clear sign of desperation in Elrohir. His eyes rounded, as if some recent memory had stabbed him. Being a child symbolized not being able to pay for his own mistakes. Being a child symbolized having to watch others be punished in his place.

_Elbereth_, he no longer wanted to be a child. He no longer wanted it.

Elrohir took a deep breath, as if trying to calm down, and he finally shook his head vigorously, moving away from Elrond's hands and again tapping on his chest, but with more strength now, making his father understand better than the healer wanted to exactly what the boy's great fear was. This assurance filled Elrond's eyes with tears and he embraced his son again, this time bringing him closer to him, even though Elrohir fought it.

"Peace, child. Peace..." he repeated, even though the boy was still trying to escape him. "Nobody will harm me. I promise. Nobody will take you away from me either. Believe what I tell you, my child. Believe me, _ion-nîn_."

It took Elrohir some time to calm down in his father's arms, but when he saw Círdan approaching, he held Elrond to him with urgency, as if he could not believe the assurances he'd just heard.

The Shipwright stopped, feeling helpless. All he wanted to do was shove his advisor friend from the boat into the icy water for having scared a child who had been through so much. The look he gave Mahtan, however, seemed to indicate more than the act envisioned by the master of the ships. Mahtan lowered his eyes, looking somewhat sorry for the outburst he'd had. Círdan approached slowly and rested his hand gently on Elrohir's head.

"No one will harm you or your father, child. You have my word," he said firmly.

Elrohir did not answer, he did not even open his eyes; he only did so when Elrond moved away a little, as he realized something: now his own shirt was stained bright red. The healer did not think twice; he lifted his son in his arms, took him back into the cabin where they'd been sleeping and placed him on the couch that he had abandoned. Círdan accompanied them, walking alongside his friend.

"What do you need, Elrond?" he asked, concerned.

"My horse and some food and medicines, if you can supply them for me, _mellon-nîn_."

"What are you talking about?"

"I know the laws, Círdan. Your people do not want to punish us, but we have infringed the law, even though we did not take anything from the island. However, our offense turns us into unwelcome people here. We cannot forget we already have another condemnation in my own land. A condemnation that your people do not even have knowledge of, and that could further complicate the situation. If we leave, we solve the problem."

"No, Elrond," Círdan replied calmly, but forcefully, his eyes already taking in Elrohir's wound, which he saw clearly for the first time. Only now he realized that the boy had been injured by the beast Elrond had killed. "Your child needs tending. You cannot take him anywhere until he feels better."

"He will only feel better when I do. He needs peace, Círdan, and if we stay in this town, even as beautiful as it is, if we stay here in your shadow, if you force our acceptance here, neither he nor I will have the peace we need so that this healing will occur."

"Elrond. It is my desire to assist you. I think it is my right after having these lands under my care for all this time."

"Círdan." Elrond stopped what he was doing, looking at his friend with love and respect. "Requesting food and medicine from you for my trip is already an abuse, especially with you being who you are. What your people expect of you as leader is to put us out of here without any help at all."

"If they really expected that from me they would not be my people, Elrond," Círdan said seriously, then looked at the twin, whose troubled expression, even with the signs of pain, followed their discussion closely. Elrohir looked away when he realized he was observed, but again Círdan placed a hand on his head, making him turn back to face him. "Tell me, brave boy. Don't you think your father should stay and we should prove to both my people and yours, that you are not guilty?"

Elrohir looked at the master of the ships for a moment, then glanced to his father, finally lifted his shoulders slightly with an air of sadness and resignation and shook his head. Círdan was surprised with what he understood in that answer, and he turned his shocked eyes toward his healer friend.

"Elrond... He thinks he is guilty..."

Elrond looked down, returning his concentration to his child's wounds.

"I did not raise a son who deludes himself easily, _mellon-nîn_. Elrohir may have his faults, but he always knows, in times of pressure, to accept and pay for the mistakes he has made," he added, and belatedly seeing his friend's sorrowful silence, offered him a small smile. "Everything will be well. Do not worry about us. I've lived through all sorts of situations in my life; this will not be the one to rob me of my peace of mind. And if my child has a bit of me in him, which I believe is true, I will learn more in this new stage of my life," he added, looking at his son with love and feeling satisfied at seeing him show a little smile of agreement.

There certainly wasn't any time of day when the landscape of _Mithlond_ was not most beautiful. And Elrond was happy to have that good thought filling the spaces among the fears and uncertainties that had occupied his mind for so long. Beside him walked Eilafion, also looking about himself, but with a different purpose than his dark-haired friend's contemplative gaze at the sunset.

"Lord Círdan will want my skin. He judged he had convinced you to stay in your brief conversation this afternoon..." Eilafion finally said softly. He and Elrond were huddled under gray capes, the hoods of which concealed their identities to the elves that crossed their path. When they arrived near the main gate, Eilafion paused for a moment. "I beseech you to reconsider, Lord Elrond."

The healer, however, did not lessen his step, continuing to walk until they finally crossed the exit of the haven city. Outside, he was happy to again meet an old friend, who was waiting for him.

"Hello, Durion, _mellon-nîn._" Elrond greeted his faithful horse with a gentle caress, then he pushed back one side of the cape he wore, bringing light to the one who had come so far walking with his body almost glued to him, but hidden beneath the thick cloak. Elrohir narrowed his eyes a little before the light, even though it was diminished by evening, but he had no time for anything else. Elrond lifted him, putting him in the saddle and checking his face for any reaction of discomfort caused by the sudden movement.

The twin returned his father's gaze with a shadow of a smile, swallowing his pain and disguising it as well as he could. He knew what they were doing, the risks that his father had taken—and still did—for him, and he did not want to add more worry lines to the already care-worn face of the Elf-lord.

Elrond pulled back Elrohir's cloak a little, checking the boy's bandages and temperature, then wrapped him back up again, pulling the fabric closed around his son.

"We're going, _ion-nîn_. I just want to say goodbye and thank you to our friend here," he informed with a patient smile. Then he joined Eilafion, taking the other elf by the arm and leading him away from the horse.

"Lord Elrond," Eilafion said, wanting to again quietly voice the same complaints he'd already given. He never imagined paying back a favor in this sort of way. When Elrond saved his life more than once on the battlefield, it hadn't passed through his mind that the repayment would come in this form.

But Elrond did not seem to share his friend's opinion, so he stopped Eilafion's protests with a raised hand and a smile of gratitude.

"I will follow the path you pointed out to me," he said. "I'll be in your friend's house by the morning, for sure."

Eilafion bit the corner of his mouth, visibly unhappy.

"If only you would allow me to accompany you, sir. It is not one of the more dangerous paths, but you're alone and your son is wounded and feverish... If you need help, what will you do?"

"The fever is also due to the lack of rest. I'm going to sedate him as soon as we are riding. He won't feel the trip. Do not worry. My good Durion will carry us safely. Hopefully we will overcome the terrain with ease and be to our destination before dawn. I ask you not to forget to deliver the letter I wrote to Círdan, please."

"Do not worry, sir," Eilafion said, looking with concern at the baggage his soldiers had tied onto the Lord of Imladris' mount. "Do you think you have enough supplies, Lord Elrond?"

"Yes. I thank you, _mellon-nîn_.", but quickly returned to face his friend, already shaking hands with him. "I wonder if, since we have now settled our past debt, I could be honored with a less formal treatment, Eilafion."

The captain of the guard sighed with emotion. He admired Elrond as much as he admired the lord of the land to which he served. For that reason it deeply touched him to know that Elrond's kind attitude had the noble and evident purpose of mitigating the weight Eilafion felt at betraying Círdan's trust in him.

"He'll want my skin..." he repeated, this time with a small smile. "And the blame will be yours... Elrond."

The healer gave a laugh that seemed more of relief than satisfaction. He then took the other elf's shoulders affectionately, giving him a slight shake.

"It seems as if everything I have done lately to try and mend something has caused harm to someone else. I hope this time I can actually accomplish some good, and that others do not pay for what I should be charged."

Eilafion shook his head in disagreement, but still tried to keep the smile on his face, even without the slightest desire to do so. Elrond's situation was very unfair; this entire incident was. But Eilafion had promised the elf lord, had given his word, and would not go back on it, even with his heart screaming for him to do so. And his heart repeated its protest, when the healer pulled him into a quick hug. Elrond walked away, mounting his horse behind his son and pulling the boy close to lean against him.

"Elrohir, say goodbye, please, to our friend Eilafion. Thanks to him we will have a safe journey."

Elrohir looked at the soldier for a moment, and the image of that weak and hurt child only added a stone to the burden that was almost crushing Eilafion's conscience. But when the boy smiled lightly at him, placing his hand on his chest and moving his head in a brief farewell, Eilafion gave up the overwhelming guilt that occupied his mind and asked the _Valar_ to intercede for this family, so that their story could have the happy ending he thought they deserved.

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for the chapter 19: <strong>Gwedhiel0117<strong>**, ****DreamingIn2Eternity****, ****Duilin****, ****shine lots****, ****Evereven****, ****Arien Arlorwen****, ****pipilo****, ****Lia Whyteleafe****, ****SilvanShemesh**Many thanks to **Puxinette**, my kind and patient beta


	21. Unexpected Journey

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XXI - UNEXPECTED WAYS <strong>

_Everything is changeable, everything appears and disappears, there can be only the blessed peace when he can escape the agony of life and death._

Sakyamuni

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><p>After the sinking of <em>Beleriand<em>, the limits of the continent changed and the sea wind found a new territory to invade, to show the quality of its strength. All temperatures in Middle-earth changed in some way in the Third Age. Where it was cold, where it was not so cold, where the sun brought the heat, where it brought a little more than that. All regions were transformed, and Eriador, one of the places that was most geographically modified by the invasion of water, was no different. There the effect of the sea wind went further inland. The Blue Mountains, known among the elves as _Ered Luin_, gained some of the moisture, making forests grow on the western slopes. Yet the gap in the Gulf of _Lune_ and the long coastline in the southwest of Eriador somewhat counterbalanced the effect of the mountains, giving to the central region a temperate climate, a not so hot summer and a winter in which the land was rarely dressed in white.

Elrond rode back by the same path on which he had come. His course, however, was not one that his heart wanted to take. If he listened to what his spirit cried, he would continue his journey by the Great East Road, until every place around him was composed of well known and loved images, until he could gaze upon his land, until he could arrive in Rivendell.

That thought made him hug his son a bit tighter, pulling him closer to his chest. Elrohir had fallen asleep easily, losing consciousness after taking only half the medication needed by someone of his age. That was not a positive sign. All Elrond wanted now was to arrive at the house Eilafion had spoken about as soon as possible. To do so he would have to continue on the road a few more miles, until he reached a place called by some The Green Hills Country. There he would take the path south, going down toward the _Sarn_ Ford, but not crossing the _Baranduin_. It was a way that he hadn't taken for a very long time; he hoped it had not changed much since then.

He had already been riding for a long while, with only the moonlight to show his steep way, and he hoped to see the sun rise as soon as it would. The moon had made its way through the sky, crossing his path as the night grew older. It was now on its final route, seeming to wait for the morning rays, in order to hide itself within the sun's warm veil of affection.

The lord of Rivendell also had another desire. He was eager to push the pace, but he knew that would not be favorable to his animal, nor to his wounded son. The few bumps they'd encountered so far on the hard way had aroused obvious signs of discomfort in Elrohir's face.

Crossing the open territory of eroded rocks and long ridges was not very encouraging either, especially at night. He gave thanks when he managed to overcome the difficult slope of the White Downs and descend its steep grade without dismounting or hearing any moan of pain from his child.

The road he now traveled was in less bumpy territory, and that was facilitating his journey slightly. He was beginning to recognize the area and read the details of the landscape before him. Eilafion had described them well. Soon, he would have to leave the road, and that did not please him. In this inhospitable region, he preferred to leave the general path with the sun clarifying the details of the journey and not just with the kind moonlight illuminating his way.

The healer slowed a little, stopping before he reached the place where he would turn in a new direction. It was nothing more than another open field, like any other part of the region's landscape, but something in his heart, for some inexplicable reason, was keeping him from leaving the road.

Elrond tightened his hold on the child in front of him again, sliding his hand lightly and affectionately across the boy's chest, trying to feel the injury he could not see. Perhaps he should stop and shelter the two of them beneath the little slope he'd just come down. There he could make a brief camp, to change the boy's bandages and give him something to eat. That way, some time would pass and he would arrive at the inn with the dawn.

Elrond thought a bit more about that, measuring risks and advantages, but in the end he followed his instincts. He urged his horse a little further, until they reached a set of rocks, which formed a sort of natural step in the area and could serve as a small hiding place. At least their presence would remain secret from the eyes of those who came off the road. He then dismounted, bringing Elrohir with him, and then he placed his son on a blanket upon the ground without undressing him.

Despite the rocky landscape, the healer was able to find some remnants of vegetation, sufficient to give him the fuel he needed to get a fire going and bring more clarity to the small camp. After all was done, Elrond sat down exhausted beside his child, trying to avoid thinking about the things he'd been wishing to escape, which the sad image of the boy were trying to reawaken in him: the longing he had for Rivendell and for having his family together again.

"Come on, my boy," he said with affection to his unconscious son, opening Elrohir's shirt and starting to remove the bandages. "It will pass, shhh, easy, easy," he repeated, feeling Elrohir tremble from the cold and also the pain. "I'll be quick, I promise. The discomfort will pass; hang on my child."

Elrond was now a bit worried because Elrohir hadn't awoken yet. He knew the signs of recovery sleep, and he also knew that when a patient sunk into total unconsciousness, like Elrohir had done, it was because he needed much more than just to heal a wounded body.

He had quickly finished his efforts and had managed to make the child drink a little water and medicine for infection. Elrond then heard a strange sound. Too many unpleasant surprises in recent times made him stand immediately, a sword already in hand. It was a hard time, too hard for him to try to give any event a simple explanation.

The Elf-lord was right to be worried. That was clear when an arrow passed within inches of his head. He raised his sword instinctively, diverting the course of two other arrows that followed the first in his direction.

Was he being attacked? It was the quick question that occurred to him, although the answer seemed too incredible to believe.

_Elbereth_, was he being attacked in a place like this?

He had no time for other questions, because he saw the answer to all of his doubts: the image of an abominable creature, whose species he knew well, rose beyond a farther escarpment, with his bow raised and ready for another assault.

Orcs were stupid creatures. At least that was what his friend Glorfindel liked to repeat at every opportunity he had. Elrond even had a moment to agree with his friend, especially when the same orc fell, with the healer's dagger buried in his skull. The enemy hadn't even known what hit him.

However, Elrond had little time to enjoy the positive results of his defensive movement. Soon, coming from the same direction, other enemies of similar size to the first appeared. This time they not only carried bows, but swords, scimitars and other weapons, as well.

Now it was definitely undeniable; he was really being attacked.

Elrond stepped over Elrohir, keeping one foot on either side of his son's body, using himself as a protection for the boy beneath him. The healer raised the sword in front of his chest, scanning the area around him. He could not imagine that orcs had returned to walk this land as freely as this group seemed to be doing. The leader did not seem that bothered; quite the contrary. He had a smile on his sinister face, which showed he had already guessed at how much help the stranger could count on.

The rest of the group seemed to surmise the same, and they spread themselves in a half moon, surrounding their prey with indescribable pleasure dominating their features. Their leader, an orc a little taller than the others, but with his back bent and disfigured in a prominent hump, uttered a laugh of pleasure, which quickly spread among the others. The moonlight shone on his teeth, some darkened with decay, and spittle gathered in the corners of his mouth, transforming him into an even more repulsive creature.

"_An elf protecting his cub. Look at him, boys_," the enemy said in his common dialect, for the first time making Elrond regret knowing so many languages. "So will you face all of us at once, or do you prefer fighting with us one by one, you enlightened creature?" he asked, moving his sword threateningly just to try to keep the elf's attention on him, while the others closed in the circle around him. The truth was that, even though they had greater numbers, the orcs feared this enemy. Time had taught them not to dismiss an armed Eldar warrior, especially one like this, whose eyes seemed to reflect an experience not to be taken lightly.

"_Hmm ... elven meat_," teased another one, at almost the opposite side of the semicircle. "It is not one of my favorites; maybe the little one's a little more tender. It smells good. It smells of fresh blood, so it must have a very good taste."

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment, trying hard not to give in to the provocations of these elusive creatures, who stood just beyond his reach. He knew, indeed, the intent behind their words. They were willing to face him, but wanted to ensure that they would come out victorious and with minimal losses.

"_Come, come, elf,"_ a third orc said. He was on Elrond's left, and he gestured to him, as they had all been doing, to make sure their prey could understand their intentions, even if he didn't understand their language. Most elves did not care to really know what the horrible and despicable creatures said to each other. "_Come on, elf! Come fight with me."_ He swung his dirty sword toward the healer, looking to the leader as if waiting for permission. _"Let me be the first and the last one to face him."_

"_Yes! That's right!"_ said another one, whose face was so disfigured that the left eye could hardly be seen. His tone was more provocative than the first._ "Let's make a fair duel. After all, one of us is too much for that damn elf. One of us will be able to put him down."_

"_Oh, no! No! Do not kill him!"_ The leader started his needling again, when the circle tightened up a bit more, and Elrond had moved his sword to a more defensive position. _"We need to let him live, at least for as long as it takes for us to cook his cub for our breakfast. Oh, I really want to see him enjoy what we will do with that puppy."_

Elrond gripped the sword he held tightly until his knuckles lost color. Damn the beasts! He would not give in; he could not move from this place and attack one of them, because that's exactly what they expected him to do. He could not leave Elrohir undefended. He could not even imagine what sorts of nasty ideas populated those creatures' insane minds, entertaining them to the point that they had not beset him yet. No. Despite Glorfindel's opinion, he knew Orcs were not always such stupid creatures. That depended on their leader. Sometimes they acted with extreme caution and with a goal behind every assault. It was clear they wanted him away from the child, but he didn't know their true reason for that.

"_Hmm, elven-child meat_." The leader of the group continued teasing, now looking at the unconscious boy and sliding a sticky tongue over his deformed lips_. "It should taste good, especially the son of an Eldar Lord."_

That incredible comment made gooseflesh prickle down Elrond's spine. He stopped looking at the enemy as a simple orc, and started to look for something more he might read in that unfortunate face. Only now he realized that this enemy did not look on him as a complete unknown person, and the use of that particular title, quite unusual in an orc's speech, was also indicative of something worse.

No, he was in an even more delicate situation. This was not just any conflict, that's why he had not yet been attacked. These orcs knew him and seemed to have special plans for him. When the creature's eyes met his again, the monster showed a second of surprise and hesitation, as if realizing his prey could see him without his mask, and that his trickery had been discovered.

"_Who are you, dark creature?"_ Elrond said, surprising the orc even more. Many elves knew orcish, the orc dialect, but this was the first elf the orc captain had encountered, who had been brave enough to dare use it. _"Who were you before the nameless evil corrupted you? Before you sold your freedom?"_

The enemy frowned and all irony faded from his face, now transformed into a facet of pure hate, which Elrond would never forget. This time the orc held the scimitar with strength in both filth-blackened hands, and he took a small step forward with a look on his face of someone who had just heard a blasphemy.

"_Any elf I've ever seen, who considered himself brave enough to speak to me, ended up drowned in his own blood,"_ he said. Elrond clenched his jaw, lifting his chin before the orc's outrage, his sword still raised, his eyes darkened. The game seemed to have reversed slowly, and now the orcs around him looked at each other nervously.

The head of the group let out a huff of anger, and then inhaled loudly, curving his compromised back into an even more grotesque shape. He swayed back and forth on his bent and malformed legs, as if he intended to throw himself into the battle immediately.

It was pure bluff, Elrond knew, but the position he was in did not give him any confidence that he could predict what was going to happen. The orc leader had set his eyes on his enemy once more, with an unusual smile on his face, one that was totally different from the ones he had been showing to Elrond before.

"_You know, Lord Eldar?_" he asked said with sarcasm and disdain, trying to clearly demonstrate a disregard for this enemy, which he did not actually feel. _"You do not know me, but I've seen your miserable excuse for swordplay in battle before, so hear me now: I do not care who you are or whether you have founded cities or not, nor does your exalted reputation mean a thing to me. I will see the blood of this puppy, and yours, on the ground today, and the meat of you both will be our meal. We'll eat and spit your useless bones, miserable people of light."_

The orc leader used those intimidating words in order to escape the state of doubt he was in, and to use his anger for something that gave him definitive pleasure. He now seemed determined to be the first to face this opponent.

Elrond received the blow and the cry of fury from the enemy with his sword shielding his chest, receiving the shock with equal vigor. The weapons of both turned, each investing force on the opponent, before sliding apart again. Around them, Elrond could feel the other members of the group move into their proper places, as if awaiting their leader's order to attack. They seemed eager, but the orc captain was smart and not as silly as the theory Glorfindel defended. He wanted the merit of this victory and in search of it walked in circles around the Elf-lord, as a hunting dog on the prowl, sometimes advancing, sometimes retreating. He was always of a mind to reach his goal, which was to move the elf away from the boy he was protecting.

Elrond remained in a defensive position, clearly at the disadvantage, given that he could not leave the place where he stood. He was now focused on moving his legs so that he would not step on his child, while still trying to predict from where and in what way the adversary's assaults would come.

And the moments of the fight extended, as neither Elrond nor even the captain orc himself might have imagined would be possible. Soon the orc's eyes no longer had the glow of anger that reddened his face, and he was more breathless than when the battle started.

Damn people of light! Cursed children of the stars! Those were the enemy's thoughts, which seemed very clear to Elrond, even in the wordless duel in which they were both engaged. For that reason Elrond worried, when he saw the enemy's eyes move subtly toward the group surrounding them, before he launched a new attack.

If that small army needed or waited for an order, maybe they'd just gotten it. Elrond came to that conclusion, more concerned, as he planned his strategies, mapping his movements and recalling useful tactics to defend his son from whatever was to come.

However, while trying hard not to follow the path that his enemy wanted him to, Elrond started to hear some strange sounds in the background, like cries of different kinds. He wanted to understand what was happening, but he couldn't give any attention to it, other than noting that it was occurring. He had the strange and bizarre impression that he might have been mistaken about the idea of an immediate attack from the others as he battled the orc captain. Perhaps the orcs had gathered around the duelists as an audience in a tournament, spitting shouts of approval and encouragement to their captain. Maybe that image had been true to a certain point, but soon, as the deadly conflict wore on, the screams of support for the captain were slowly disappearing.

Strange ... What had silenced them?

His adversary now frowned, as if trying to focus not only on fighting but also what was happening around them. But neither he nor Elrond risked trying to get the information that mystified them. From the corners of their eyes both warriors could see that the other members of that group had decided to abandon their positions, as none of them could be seen around the duelers.

The baffling situation brought to the orc leader a sense of urgency, as he began to assault the Elf-lord with more energy, raising both hands and bringing the scimitar down as if it were an axe. It seemed as if he hurled every offensive word and sound that he knew, as he increased his attack with vigor. Elrond received all the blows, physical and verbal, with the ability that characterized him, now seeking to limit his movements, seeking to make his opponent waste his energy. Soon the orc's lips were parted and his movements were not anywhere near the precision as at the beginning of the fight. But the orc continued to defy his enemy, even as he felt the effectiveness of his strikes diminish significantly.

"_Damned Noldo... I'll enjoy seeing you suffer…_" he teased, during each interval between one stroke and another. "_I'll enjoy the taste of the flesh of your son_... _You shall see what I will do with him..._ _You shall hear him scream... You shall see how we treat a species such as yours... Because nothing is more enjoyable than seeing a dead elf... unless it is leaving the remains of an elf's carcass to the crows."_

While the insults continued, maliciously creative, Elrond's patience was eroded in the same proportion. He clenched his jaw tightly, holding his breath at times, using his control to calm the restlessness and doubts he was having, lest he lose everything that was important to him. The sun unfortunately had not blessed the morning sky with light yet, and he saw himself in a delicate defensive position that told him in every blow given and received, that he could not wait for the help of _Anor_.

Thinking and worried about that, Elrond decided not to wait for the next onslaught. His heart and his equally distressed state of exhaustion warned him it was time for an all or nothing charge. If he still had the bizarre audience of other enemies around, only waiting for the end of this conflict, he had to save some strength if he had any hope of a chance to escape and save his son.

That certainty moved him to risk himself to be the first to step forward. In an unexpected act he surprised his opponent by moving the sword and almost dealing the ultimate blow. He was unlucky in this strategy, because the enemy was not the head of this group for a foolish reason. The orc dodged as he could, but Elrond was able to steal from him a cry of pain, his blade making a huge and deep cut in the creature's chest.

When he was hurt, other unspeakable and worse outrages started to leave the orc's mouth in a torrent, with the rhythm of the black blood that flowed through his open wound. Before he could unleash a new onslaught, however, he looked his elven enemy in the eye, and Elrond realized he had been luckier in his last attack than he had imagined. The orc leader's lips quivered, bent into a mask of hatred and pain, but his eyes were those of someone who seemed aware that his days were ended.

"_I have walked this land as long as you have, damned Noldo, and I know one thing: This earth will not be ours, but it won't be of your people either; it won't be of the Eldar. Neither I nor you will be here when that changes. I will do you the favor of taking you with me now and deprive you of all this deception." _Those were his last words, before throwing himself without any judgment or common sense, upon his opponent.

Elrond sought to ignore this latest provocation, as he had been doing since the beginning of the conflict. His answer to it was made with the sharp blade of his sword, raised to the sky and reflecting the brightness of the stars. He swung the blade through the air, a movement not expected by the enemy. The orc's eyes rounded for a second, but he soon saw nothing more. Elrond had finished the fight, slicing his enemy's head cleanly from his shoulders and bringing the silence back to the clearing that he'd found when he'd first arrived here.

Silence…

A disturbing silence...

Elrond absorbed the absence of sound for a short time, and he did not take any pleasure from it, not even the taste of victory in so hard a fight. He shifted his stance quickly to seek the faces of the other enemies, trying to finally determine what would have moved them away from the battlefield in which their leader was fighting. Only then a disturbing image surprised him more than any other during that unexpected conflict, and he realized that the screams he had previously heard around him seemed to have come for another reason.

One by one, the other members of the group had fallen. They all lay dead, each with one or two arrows piercing vital regions. Elrond turned in a circle, once, then twice, or maybe three times, with his weapon raised, his face a mask of undisguised confusion.

More incredible, however, was the image that slowly emerged from behind the huge rock that Elrond had chosen as the wall to hide himself and Elrohir…

Porting the bow he had won from his mentor and looking at him with an ashen face, gasping as someone who wakes from a nightmare, was Elladan. And from just behind him emerged the image of Celebrian, her expression one of a person almost overcome with fear.

"Elrond..." she called, and only when the Elf-lord heard her voice, did he seem to believe that the absurd scene in front of him was far from a dream.

"_Elbereth!" _he said, raising his sword immediately and looking defensively around when the family ran toward him. Even when Celebrian and Elladan embraced him, all that the healer could do was continue scanning his surroundings closely, his round eyes looking for enemies of all kinds, for anything that might be wrong. He unconsciously feared that something very serious could happen, and he would be able to do nothing to defend his family, to defend those who were now at his side.

Celebrian, however, did not seem to share her husband's concern. In only a moment she slid from Elrond's arms and threw herself on her knees, stroking their son's unconscious face with both of her hands.

"_Ion-nîn_! _He... He is feverish_," she said, looking back at her husband. _"Elrond. Elrohir is feverish."_

Elrond did not answer; his lips were parted as someone who wanted to wake up from a nightmare, but failed. His eyes insisted on following the path by which his wife had come, as if searching for something; for what, he couldn't guess.

"You... You..." he tried to say, looking once again to the road, which came from the direction of his land. His gaze leapt to the great stone, then to the orcs' bodies; to his elder son at his side and then, finally, to his wife. "Celebrian, by _Ilúvatar_, tell me that someone came with you. Tell me you did not come after me alone."

Celebrian, however, continued to concentrate on something she thought was much more important than all the doubt drawn on her husband's face. Now, she carefully opened her son's shirt, checking the huge bandage beneath it.

"Oh, my sweet _Varda_... What happened? How did he get hurt this way? Oh, he is so thin and haggard... Elrond? Elrond, what happened?" she continued asking, in an anguished tone, first as if talking to herself, then with her eyes fixed on her husband. Only then Elrond also fell to his knees before her, feeling that this flood of emotions and information was too much for him.

"Star... Star of mine..." He took his wife's hand with fervor, while still holding the sword with the other hand, and that affectionate nickname also appeared to bring Celebrian back to herself. "How did you get here?"

Celebrian looked at her husband for a moment, her eyes sparkling in that special way, which Elrond knew very well. In the garden of Rivendell, behind the larger house, when he finally told her how much he loved her, the lady-elf's eyes shone like that, in that same way.

"We came for you, _meleth_. We came to find you. We are a family."

Elrond was stunned, and he felt his mind empty quickly, as if nothing was left in it. Finally several images seemed to invade it slowly: the morning on the ship, the afternoon at Cirdan's home and the reluctance of Eilafion in letting him go; their endless search for a right time to leave without being seen; Eilafion's worries and the time it took to convince his friend to help him; the preparations, the path, the delays; his desire to camp here. Everything, positive and negative, conspired to this moment, all those intertwined purposes. _Elbereth,_ all the luck he had! One moment more and it could have been his wife and his eldest son to meet that enemy group; a moment of difference and Elladan could not have helped him.

"My good _Ilúvatar,_" he cried, now looking at the child still standing and at once pulling him close. Elladan knelt as his father compelled him to and allowed himself to be hugged, but his eyes were now trapped on his wounded brother and his heartbeat was accelerated once more. It was only when Elladan uttered an irrepressible cry of pain that Elrond moved him a bit away, looking at him with concern.

"The wound has not closed yet," Celebrian said, seeing the embarrassed boy lower his head. "But he used his bow... then..." she tried to explain, finally looking at the mountain of orcs her son had killed with his arrows. It was the most gruesome scene she had ever witnessed, and she still had difficulty believing it. "He... saw that you were in danger and... the orcs... he was afraid they would move on you...then he... I did not know what to do," she said, containing her own emotion as she held her firstborn's hand. Elladan did not raise his face, fearing he had done something for which he would be reprimanded.

His father's silence did not help him to feel better. But it was brief, although for the older twin it seemed to last much longer.

"Seldom have I seen so skilled an archer." Elladan finally heard the words he craved to hear, and he brought his gaze back to his father in a mixture of disbelief and surprise. "Beleg surely would be proud to be the inspiration of a warrior like you. I am proud to be the father of such a warrior," Elrond completed, placing a palm on the child's face. He then took his son in his arms.

This time Elladan returned his father's embrace, exhaling in relief, as if that approval was all that mattered. He stayed there for several minutes, but soon his eyes were drawn again to the image that worried him greatly: his wounded and unconscious brother, and the whole story he could read from those sad injuries.

"Elrohir will be better soon." He heard his father's voice again, feeling the healer's hands, as they opened his shirt to examine the old injury, which did not seem to want to heal. After that Elrond's hand grabbed his chin and Elladan finally found his gaze trapped by his father's clear and sincere eyes. "Elrohir will be better, ion-nîn. We just have to find a place for us all to rest for a while."

Elladan nodded sadly, but Elrond continued holding his chin, as his father's face transformed into a patient smile.

"Your brother got to _Tol Morwen_ and buried the sword," the Elf-lord told Elladan, and his smile widened before the surprised eyes of his eldest son and his wife's sigh of exclamation. "We do not know whether it was the hero's weapon, but for me the story is over and he is free from any guilt. Is that not so, my child?"

Elladan was still confused after Elrond's words, looking at his father and questioning the possibility of having heard the information correctly. He then looked back at his brother, his lips pressed tightly together. The sum of his feelings left him breathless, from the extreme pride he felt in his twin, to all the misfortunes that had crossed their paths. He felt his father caress his left arm, but soon the lord-elf's attention was drawn away.

Elrond turned to look around, breathing deeply, trying to balance himself again. He had too many concerns. The idea of remaining camped here with the day dawning displeased him. All that was of any value to his existence was here in this wilderness; his family, wounded, exhausted and at the mercy of anything that might happen. No. He did not want to receive any surprises.

"We have to go," he said then, already standing and waving to his horse. "Durion. Come here, mellon-nîn."

"Where are we going?" Celebrian asked, though she did not rise immediately; she hovered over Elrohir, adjusting the blanket that covered her sleeping son.

"A friend from the Haven told me of a place where we might seek refuge, not far from here," Elrond said, tying his bag to the horse's saddle, his instincts still alert to his surroundings. "Are you traveling on foot?" he asked his wife.

Celebrian smiled, and then she whistled sweetly, calling her own mount. At once the beautiful white horse came trotting in all its majesty from behind the big rock, standing beside Durion, as if he had been ordered to do so.

Elrond watched the scene with admiration, as those might who faced the most beautiful painting. Then he went to his wife's horse and caressed its silver mane with a weary sigh.

"Hello, Roquen, mellon-nîn," he said, stroking the snout of the animal now. "I am grateful to you for having brought them to me safely."

Not waiting anymore, Elrond started to examine their surroundings and make plans. Finally, he turned to his wife and subtly patted the back of her horse. Celebrian quite understood the message, approaching and allowing her husband to lift her, helping her to sit on the horse's back. The healer came close to the fire and made a final check on the unconscious child. He picked Elrohir up, then rose again, bringing him toward his wife.

"Do you think you can take him? I need my hands free to protect us."

Celebrian just smiled, raising both arms to receive her youngest. She put him with his face close to her chest. When he was leaning against her breast, she couldn't keep herself from kissing his face a few times.

"It'll be alright now, my brave little warrior," she whispered into the boy's ear. In response, however, Elrohir lifted his eyelids, using evident effort, until they uncovered little more than half of his eyes. He frowned, his expression confused, as if to question what he was seeing. But his mother started to kiss his eyes, forcing him to close them again. "Shhh, no, no..." she warned in her sweet tone. "You won't awake now... Sleep, my heart... Sleep, _Rohir-nîn_."

Elrond had followed the scene for a moment and just smiled to see his son back to sleep, his features much more serene. Now in his mother's arms, perhaps he was feeling at home, and that feeling, although it was not the case, would certainly help the boy to face the end of this journey.

The healer took a deep breath, then looked at his eldest son.

"Extinguish the fire, _ion-nîn_, please," he said, tying the remains of the baggage onto his horse and then mounting. When Elladan finished the task, he found Durion next to him, and his father's hand extended in his direction. "Ride with me, my archer."

Elladan sighed deeply, feeling inexplicable happiness after so long a time. There had been so much to worry about, so many problems, so much pain, so many doubts. But despite all that, he would not trade places with any other in all of Arda. He gave a small smile as he adjusted the quiver on his back. He picked up his bow and raised his hand, accepting his father's help with satisfaction, as he leapt up behind him.

Elrond smiled as he felt his son's hands on his waist. It felt like an embrace, and then Elladan leaned his face on his father's back. Elrond then took a deep breath, checking his own weapon, before they continued to follow by the road he'd been traveling before, to that unknown destination, hoping that luck would continue to favor them as had happened on this early morning.

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for <span>chapter 20<span>. Hope you continue reading and letting me know your opinion. You know how important you are to me: DreamingIn2Eternity, eliza61, melissamed, world-classgeek, Evereven, Sivan Shemesh, Glory-Bee, Lia Whyteleafe. And many, many thanks to **Puxinette**, my patient beta and friend.


	22. What comes after pain? - Part 1

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p>I want to give you a little warning about this chapter. There is a love scene near the end of this chapter. While it isn't graphic, it is a love scene, so if you don't like reading things like that, then be forewarned, please.<p>

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XXII – WHAT COMES AFTER THE PAIN? – PART 1<strong>_

_I think there comes a time in our lives that our_

_only obligation is to fight ferociously to introduce in the top of_

_each day, the maximum of eternity..._

João Guimarães Rosa – Brazilian author

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><p>The clear dark of night left no sign of dawn when Elrond and Celebrian left the steep way and began to travel across the lesser hillsides. The landscape around them continued to be dotted by slender birches that were paled by the winter. Lulled by the wind, the swaying bushes in the distance painted a net of darker shadows against the slightly lighter sky.<p>

_Durion_ and _Roquen_ finally made their way to a small road that curved around the Green Hills toward the place where the land met the course of the _Baranduin_. Elrond looked further into the distance, checking the details of the way to make sure he was strictly following the guidelines offered by his friend Eilafion.

It was still very dark, but a sense of security seemed to invade the couple's heart, even if they did not understand why. Elrond had put his sword away and now he had one of his arms held behind him, his hand supporting Elladan, who slept leaning against his father's back. He did not want to move his son yet, because he was still focused on figuring out exactly how far they were from their destination.

After they'd gone a little farther, they started climbing a steeper hill, and the healer finally saw another of the references his friend had given him: a dry pine forest was darkening the landscape, adding its characteristic odor to the air. A little below, on the left, the road went down beside a deep ravine and disappeared.

One by one the other landmarks were giving life to the mental map in Elrond's mind. Soon they came upon a frozen stream near the foot of the hill with a small waterfall escaping from beneath a gray ledge. They did not stop; the chill of the water would not be inviting even for elves. Then they descended the hill and crossed the small river, rejoining the path on the other side. They then rode up the next undulation, and so they zigzagged to the top of a steep slope, until the road headed downward once more.

"Is it still far?" Celebrian asked, as she took note of the morning's cold wet start. The rays of the sun appeared through the mist that hung over the landscape, dyeing the trees a golden color. She sighed, looking down the road that went through the ravine on the left and seemed to disappear.

Elrond looked again to those lower lands, inhabited by small groups of trees, the morning mist almost keeping them secret. It seemed that the road ran its course, uncertain and distant, circling as if it actually went nowhere. He sighed briefly, then twisted his body to bring Elladan around to sit in front of him on the horse. The boy awoke with the movement, but his father just took his son's quiver off, assuring him that everything was fine and he could go back to sleep.

"It is not as close as I had imagined, Star of Mine," he admitted to his wife. In fact he had never gone this way before. "From what my friend told me we will be in a less hilly terrain soon. Do you want to stop now or can we go ahead? Are you tired?"

The Elf-Lady shook her head, not looking particularly tired or in any special hurry at all. She then rested her hand on her son's forehead. Elrohir did not seem to be suffering from the trip.

"We are well," she said, offering a simple smile to her husband. "Do not worry."

Elrond sighed, still looking at his wife. His heart was filled with disbelief at the total upheaval his life seemed to take with every sunrise. He just nodded, but made no comment, and the couple continued to go down that road, which after many curves, extended in a straight line. It was just as Eilafion had told Elrond it would be, cutting through grass that would be surrounding very high trees some meters away.

Finally the winter sun shared its grace, and after days of rain, the sky turned the stormy scenario a brilliant blue, while the shining star followed its path across the vast expanse, warming hearts as well as the landscape. After the first fork in the road, the couple found a stand of old trees, some already dropped by ancient storms. Here they dismounted, deciding to make a quick stop, just to check wounds and feed their children. From that moment on Elladan was no longer asleep, but Celebrian insisted on continuing with the younger twin in her arms. Elrond had chosen to keep him sedated at least until they reached their destination.

The west wind began to sing among the branches, as the afternoon waned. Elrond looked at the sky above, calculating the time until a new night fell. He had been wrong about the time they'd spend on their trip so far, as well as being wrong in several other predictions lately. Maybe he should stop looking to the future and simply let events follow the directions they would take. He then looked around, watching the trees and the undergrowth sway with the breeze, humming their whispers as if they were orchestrated by the wind.

"See, Elladan," he said to his son, who was traveling in front of him now. "That's a _glawarod_, which is very rare in our region. With its leaves we can fight against the black poison," he explained, just to draw the silent boy's attention. The child's head turned back to see the plant and his father smiled, pleased to again have the freedom to do something which gave him much pleasure.

Then the journey began to be tempered by some of those instructions. Often it was Elladan who, not recognizing a plant or shrub, readily pointed it out to his father in search of the answer. Beside them Celebrian smiled softly, stroking Elrohir's hair and whispering words of peace when he moved in his forced sleep.

Soon the road began to disappear with the growing dusk, and the colors of everything around them started to dull. A star shone over the trees in the already darkened east, and one by one, its sisters emerged, increasing the light as night fell. When the forest on both sides was more dense and young, and the path began to descend on a trail through thickets of hazel, Elrond felt in his heart the relief of one who is near the end of a very hard journey. Although he had not had to travel at night, this trip had been more dangerous than any other he had ever made, and he tried very hard not to think about all the peril his family could be in, since he still feared they could be confronted with some unexpected event.

They then took a trail of bright green grass that seemed to reflect the moonlight. The path emerged from the right of the main way, more like a hidden shortcut than a regularly used trail. The family of Imladris went this way, lowering their heads a bit when they felt some branches touch them in the dark. Celebrian instinctively hugged her son more closely and sensed her husband's horse come nearer to hers.

"We're very close now," she heard him murmur, and kept her faith in the security his voice conveyed. After riding the curved path a little farther, they topped a ridge of hills. By then they could hear the noise of the river perfectly, and that sound brought Elrond a calm feeling. He was long accustomed to having this kind of friendly music cradling him every moment of the day. Whatever the river, it was always good to hear that kind of singing.

It was then that they noticed a large swath of parted grass, which earned a grayish tone in the dark of night. Although the forest continued to cover everything in almost all directions, to the east the way dipped deeply, bringing the treetops near the height of the track itself. The path they were on led to the lowlands through a narrow opening in the grass. They entered and after only a few minutes they came upon an unusual construction: based in a huge oak tree was the house that Eilafion had described to Elrond.

The tree was one of the largest the healer had ever seen, outside of Lothlorien, and it grew with its branches pointing to heaven. A dwelling was built among them, with logs tied together amid the limbs, and then mortared with red clay. Elrond looked up, counting the floors one by one. There were three, each with small windows, through which lights shone as the branches swayed happily. There was a large main door that opened onto a balcony that was almost four feet off the ground. From this balcony emerged a spiral staircase, which embraced the trunk in some places, but ultimately ended directly in front of the tree. Elrond saw a man coming from that door. He was already dressed in pajamas, and came down the stairs cautiously, holding a huge lamp.

"Good evening..." he said in a guarded tone, when he was on the next to the last step, but for some reason, stopped where he was and went no further. "Can I be of any help?"

After urging his horse to walk a few more steps, Elrond made a brief sign to his wife at his side. He'd helped Elladan climb back behind him just before they'd found this house, so his son was mostly obscured in shadows. Elrond's face had become more visible in the light of the man's lantern. The extra illumination was not at all necessary, given the bright reflection of the stars, especially on Celebrian's light hair and white skin. They certainly had given the owner of this place a good idea about who his visitors were, and that was possibly the reason he looked so puzzled.

Elrond took a deep breath, hoping that the influence of his good friend Eilafion was positive enough.

"Good evening, sir," he said, without dismounting. He'd decided not to take any action that could be misinterpreted. "I apologize for the lateness of the hour. I come at the behest of my friend Lord Eilafion, from the Haven City," he completed and waited to read what that information might produce in his favor.

In response to Elrond's announcement the stranger's eyes rounded.

"Lord Eilafion? He is a good friend of mine," he said, his face already less austere. "Any friend of his is welcome here, sir."

Elrond sighed with relief.

"I am grateful. My name is Elrond _Peredhel_, this is Celebrian, my wife," he said, introducing them, as Celebrian approached on her horse. The man was surprised to realize that this did not seem to be a typical caravan of travelers, but a family of elves. The image of a family traveling alone would be unusual, but a lone family of the Eldar would also be a surprise.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Marach," he said, his expression somewhat confused. "There is one Eldar Lord whose name is Elrond... the landlord beyond the marshes in the valley past the river _Bruinen_…" The man pointed in the direction of Rivendell, and Elrond took a deep breath before responding.

"I am not the lord of those lands or of any land, Lord Marach... But I am the one you have heard about," he answered honestly.

The man frowned again, puzzled, but his eyes traveled to the figure of the boy in his mother's lap, and his face grew concerned. .

"Can I help you, sir?" the man repeated. "Do you need a room for the night? Provisions?"

Elrond looked at his wife, then sighed.

"My friend Eilafion told me that perhaps you could give us shelter for a few days. My children are wounded, the youngest of them needs special attention, as well as home care, and I could not provide this while camping in the wild..." he said, looking worriedly at Elrohir. "If you cannot help us, I'll understand, and I would be grateful if you could point us to another place and..."

"My good _Ilúvatar_... Of course you may stay!" the man said then, his gaze now more fixed on the boy. "I thought he just slept..." he said, forgetting his doubts as he descended the last step, bringing light into the small clearing. "Did you say children?" he started to ask, but the answer came as soon as the Elf-lord dismounted and the figure of another boy came into view. Elladan lowered his face when he noticed he was being scrutinized, so the man did not persist. Elrond helped his firstborn to the ground, then approached his wife and took Elrohir into his arms. It was Marach himself who, as a formality, helped the elven lady down from her mount.

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><p>When Elrond entered the room, he found Celebrian standing before the small window and Elladan kneeling beside the bed on which Elrohir was placed. He offered the family a little smile, gesturing for his firstborn to get up from the cold floor. The boy obeyed instantly, approaching his father as Elrond dropped his tired body into one of the armchairs in the room.<p>

"Is everything well, meleth?" Celebrian asked, as she drew near.

Elrond leaned his head against the chair's padded back, closing his eyes briefly.

"Yes. Lord Marach was reluctant to accept any payment, but I managed to convince him. He is a good man. He lives here with his elderly mother and some employees. There is not actually a hostel here, but they usually receive caravans as they make their way to the ports, if the weather takes them unawares."

"It's an unusual building in fact. Are there more people staying here?"

"No. Only us, for now," Elrond said, glancing around. "How is Elrohir?"

"The fever has not returned." Celebrian smiled upon the image of her sleeping son. "This is a good sign, isn't it?"

Elrond smiled, too, as he rose and went to the bed of the youngest.

"He has had no fever since he has been held in the arms of a certain someone," Elrond said, placing his hand on the bandaged chest of his son and sighing. "But he still needs care and rest; a great deal of care and rest."

"He will have them..." Celebrian assured, watching her husband go through a small door into another room. She followed him as he explored their quarters. "There is a bath. And piped water, as in our land."

Elrond smiled, linking the small device that that allowed the water to begin flowing into the tub.

"Our friend Marach is an inventor," he said, putting his hand under the water. "He created a system of mirrors and other components and with that, look what happens." He glanced at his son, who had accompanied them into the bathroom, listening to the explanation. Elladan reached out, as his father compelled him to do, and was surprised to see that the water was hot. Celebrian did the same.

"How? In the middle of winter?" she asked in astonishment.

Elrond just smiled, already pouring some of his herbs and salts into the water. Celebrian stood by silently; she never interrupted her husband while he was in the process of healing, whether he was merely speaking words at the bedside of a patient, or performing more complicated surgical procedures.

The healer went to his youngest son's bed and stripped him of his garments and bandages. Celebrian went back to her place at the window, knowing that her firstborn was standing by to help his father in any way necessary.

The whole process did not take long, but to Elladan it held something sacred, something that touched him. Back when he'd been allowed to, he used to follow all of his father's healing processes, and he had always been filled with great admiration.

Obviously, this time, with the patient being who he was, everything that happened in the bathroom had a much greater significance. Elladan became quiet, just watching as his father gently and cautiously ran the sponge over his twin's wounded body, placing his right hand onto every deep wound, which marked the child's chest, and focusing his healing energy there. Then he washed Elrohir's hair carefully, always saying words of affection when he felt any reaction to treatment received.

The healer then covered the patient in a towel, bringing him back to the bed newly made by his wife. Elladan could not get close to his twin anymore, so he stood beside the armchair. He had one hand pressed against the padded back, his fingers tightening on the fabric with every groan of his brother, as his father redid the bandages and his mother finished drying the child's hair the best that she could. Soon Elrohir was back to sleep, helped by the sleep potion the healer had administered with skill, and that, despite the unpleasant taste it had, the young elf seemed to take without any hesitation. The pain must have still been severe, since the stubborn twin, even in a moment of near unconsciousness, accepted drinking the horrible tasting liquid.

Elladan looked down for a moment, when he saw his father lean over and kiss his brother's face after the whole process. From where he was he could hear the healer's murmurs, asking his son's forgiveness for not having arrived in time and promising him that the pain would be gone if he slept. He also told him that everything would be fine and assured him he would never be alone, and that he was much loved. His mother also held Elrohir's hand, fondly caressing the boy's left arm, which was marked by several bruises.

Elladan was so lost in that sweet, sad image that remained in his mind, even after it was over, that he was startled when his father's hand came to rest on his shoulder. He had not noticed him moving away from the bed. Elrond offered him a warm smile, then took his hand and led him to the bathroom. Inside Elladan was surprised to find that his father had prepared a special bath for him, too, as he had for his brother. He looked at Elrond uncomprehendingly, and when he realized his father was going to stay and help him, he shook his head to imply that it was not necessary.

Elrond stared back for a moment, but then he just started to loosen the ties of his son's tunic to help him undress and get him into the tub. The twin tried to argue as he could, but then gave up, following, as he always did, his father's commands.

The water was warm and had a pleasant smell, so the twin felt his body relax almost immediately. But his concerns and fears only started to fade when he felt the safe hands of his father skim over him, stopping briefly here and there, especially paying attention to the site of the wound made by the blade that Elrohir had reforged. As the healer caressed the large scar, Elladan could feel him stealing the pain that had persisted even after the wound had healed.

Elladan closed his eyes almost without realizing it.

Throughout the tender process, Elladan finally realized, by allowing that contact, what his father certainly already knew: that he, like his brother, even though he tried to deny it, was also wounded physically and spiritually, and he needed care too; he needed his father just as Elrohir did. And how he had missed that contact, how he had missed being near his father without feeling that he was forcing Elrond to do something wrong; how he missed being able to ask him questions again. But most of all, he missed being able to look for his father's affection. It had been a rough patch in their lives, and he was finding it hard to believe that, somehow, this entire nightmare was coming to an end, even with all the uncertainty of the future that lay ahead.

With an indescribable sense of relief from all these mixed feelings, he suddenly realized he was leaning his head back against his father's chest and weeping silently.

Elrond stroked his hair fondly, reaffirming his presence, repeating to him the same apologies he had said to his brother, offering him the same assurance of recovery, promising him the same love.

And like his brother, once in a bed his mother had made for him, Elladan also accepted the medication the healer offered him, eventually finding that, strangely, the bitter liquid had an unforgettable taste of affection. Even though he was falling asleep, he continued to hold his father's hand, in a silent request for him to stay for a while at his side. The Elf-lord then sank down on the bed, running his fingers tenderly over his child's face, murmuring an old song. He gazed at the vigilant boy, whose sleepy eyes remained imprisoned by the image of his brother in bed beside him, before they finally closed.

The last image Elladan wanted to see before falling asleep was the one he had before him and for which he had waited so long: Elrohir sleeping safely, deeply, in a bed beside him.

But where?

At the moment, it didn't matter where...

Elrond allowed himself to stay there for a while; he was in a state of utter exhaustion, but profound relief. It was as if, finally, he could breathe. When his wife's hand gently touched his shoulder, he was still lost in his thoughts and concerns, so he looked up toward her slowly.

Celebrian offered him a single smile, her thin fingers gently running down the strands of her husband's disheveled hair. Elrond had casually tied it behind his head and taken off his shirt to bathe the children. Sitting there, more exhausted than he could hide, he was far from the elegant portrait of the Elf-lord of Rivendell, the elf that everyone's eyes silently followed during their leader's brief walks through the garden. But his wife could not imagine another image she wanted to see more than this one before her now.

Elrond finally noticed that Celebrian's eyes followed the movement of her fingers, as they slowly trailed down his arm. He felt a pleasant chill run down his spine. She liked to tease him during difficult times, but in this simple room near their sleepy children with the future uncertain, the healer noted the absence of that provocative gleam in Celebrian's eyes. Even so she allowed her velvet palm to slip down his bare back, before taking his hand and pulling him slowly to his feet.

The elf stood up then, too tired to think about reasons, and let himself be led, pulled subtly as a child. When he passed again through the small door into the bathroom, he realized the purpose of his wife's unexpected demeanor. A dose of affection had been reserved for him. As he had done for their children, Celebrian had prepared the tub with water and salts, and now, also as he had done before, she helped him slip out of his clothes and compelled him to experience the positive results of good Marach's invention.

_Elbereth,_ the whole world could come down to moments like these, small actions away from vanity, detached of luxury, indifferent to titles of nobility, but full of tenderness. These were the thoughts that passed slowly through the Elf-lord's mind as his eyes could not abandon the image of his wife, whose attention remained unwavering in what she was doing; the foam she spread through her husband's hair, the length of care she gave to one or other injury she encountered.

When her eyes finally returned the gaze of her husband, the beautiful lady offered him that same smile that she had when they were in the garden, finally aware of one another for the first time, or when their eyes met from afar in the midst of daily activities. And if Elrond thought he could not love her more than he had been doing all these years, the thought was left behind, along with their titles, with the previously important positions they'd held, with the problems that had seemed urgent, but that now had completely lost all importance. He pulled her close to him then, and his lips covered hers without a word being needed, erasing uncertainties, replacing priorities, recalling the sense of the word perspective, the word hope, the word destiny.

Heat, after so long being plagued by cold tremors of fear. It was just what he wanted to feel; with his mind no longer worried about where he was or the situation he was in. His thoughts touched on the dancing of their joined mouths, of the meeting of their lips, of old and new tastes, while he received caresses from his wife that were less aimed at cleaning his aching body, and more intended to awaken his very soul. When Celebrian's delicate fingers found what she sought, his lips left hers in a sudden gasp.

"Star," he said, throwing his head back instinctively. "Please..."

And the mischievous smile that had always been the cradle of their relationship became the melody of his life again, especially when Celebrian put her lips close to his ear, letting warm air escape slowly, along with some fairly provocative words.

"Please? Since when do you need to beg, _meleth-nîn_?" she asked, remaining resolute in her purpose as that was her nature.

_Elbereth_ what chance would he have if she really wanted to disconcert him completely one day? What chance would he have if she wanted to make of him anything she wanted? What chance would he have?

What chance… would he really wish to do anything else anyway?

"Oh, Star... Star of my..." he repeated needlessly, shaking his head. His hands searched for his loved one, as if he felt he was in some kind of trance from which he could not awaken. Her lips were trailing the lines of his face, descending slowly down his neck, as her hands caressed him in ways that almost drove him crazy.

"Tell me what you want, _meleth-nîn_. Explain what you want from me..." she continued to say, seeming to steal what little sanity he had left, threatening to throw him into a world from which he may not want to return.

An end? Was that what he wanted? Did he want her hands to take him slowly to the end? Yes, he wanted that, but he didn't want it to stop there. He wanted for them to love each other intensely over and over again, until all they could do was lie in each other's arms and bask in the warmth and certainty that would then surround them.

Yes… that's what he wanted…

He slid his hand down his wife's left arm, feeling the wet fabric of the shirt she still wore. Warrior's clothes... His wife wore warrior's garments, though she was beautiful in spite of that. She was beautiful in any clothes... or without them; especially without them... His fingers then sought those ties that lay between him and the image he wanted to see, as his mind did its best to provide them with some stability, although it was already fully trapped in the equally urgent affairs that the lady of Rivendell seemed to have in mind.

Ties... difficult ties... Soon his fingers just grabbed the fabric.

"Star, help me..."

"What do you want?" she asked teasingly into his ear, placing small kisses along her husband's neck, stroking it with the tip of her nose, while her hands followed much easier paths, without the obstructions that Elrond's had found.

Elrond took a deep breath, grimacing for a moment, then he breathed out almost painfully. _Elbereth,_ how could such an agonizing experience as this also seem like a beautiful dream?

"I want to be with you. I want you, my love. Please do not make me wait, do not torment me."

He then opened his eyes and his wife's gaze met his again, this time more tender than provocative. Her prior attitude had changed. Elrond's vision was captured now by the image of Celebrian's fingers slowly untying the laces of her shirt, as he caught glimpses of very white skin that lurked beneath those soldier's clothes. When a more feminine form took shape from beneath the warrior's garb, Elrond contained himself, calculating the strength he had, the strength he knew he would need, the strength he wanted to have.

"The water is cold." She smiled, as she slipped quietly into the tub.

"I think I can solve that problem." He smiled too, still a little breathless, finally feeling the expected contact of her body next to his.

"I believe you can solve this and many other problems." Celebrian straddled his legs, her body the perfect vision of hills and valleys, all covered by the sunshine of the most beautiful day. She was the sunshine, the sun's heat. She captured the sponge that had been floating sluggishly in the water, and began running it along her arms, over her breasts. It had been some time since she'd had a proper bath.

The water might have been cold, but Elrond did not even notice; his eyes slid down the landscape that his wife exposed and exploited, as she devoted herself to her bath.

Touching her was almost like desecrating a sacred site, but that fleeting idea only took the elf one thousandth of a thought, before his hands followed their desired paths, his mind rejecting any precaution, just longing to hear the song of his wife.

It did not take long for the expected music to manifest. First Celebrian sighed, and then she couldn't help the gasp and the moan that followed.

The hands of a healer. He had the hands of a healer; he could bring peace, relieve pain and after many years, he discovered that, besides all those other things, he could also offer pleasure.

Soon Celebrian's body was stretched out atop his, and their lips took up the pace of their hearts. His hands slid down her back, beyond, covering nearly forgotten territories, recalling known paths, awakening dawns.

"Oh, _meleth-nîn,_" she whispered in his ear, compelling her hand to find him through the press of their bodies, positioning herself to receive what he wanted to give her. They trembled at the same time.

Time. Time. They did not have much time. They felt as if they could stay locked in this primal embrace for the rest of their lives, but how could they? They had children in the next room.

As soon as that thought was shared between them, they knew that they had no choice in the matter. Their love was timeless…

"_Amin mela lle... _I love you," he whispered in her ear, while her warmth enveloped him, while their bodies were cast to that perfect ballet, lulled by the song of the few words of love that left their parted lips. His hands held her, guided her, aided her as they always had, as ever. At that moment, that place, that day, that always.

The rest of the night the couple lay entwined in the armchair, where they could see their children, unwilling to think about their doubts and sorrows, forgetting for the moment the passage of time.

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for <span>chapter 21<span>. Hope you continue reading and letting me know your opinion. You know how important you are to me: **Gwedhiel0117****, ****DreamingIn2Eternity**, **melissamed,****world-classgeek**, **Evereven**, **Sivan Shemesh**, **Glory-Bee**, **Lia Whyteleafe**. And many, many thanks to **Puxinette**, my patient beta and friend.


	23. What comes after pain? - Part 2

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XV - WHAT COMES AFTER THE PAIN? (Part II)<strong>

_You have to suffer after suffering and love, and love more, after having loved._

João Guimarães Rosa

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><p>When dawn came, the forest, up till then silent and empty, seemed full of color and noise. The forgotten curtain at the window of the room stood partly open, and all sorts of sounds seeped through the cracks surrounding the window. However, amid the singing of birds, the rustle of stems and leaves, the heavy thudding of the wood ax in the distance and the lids of pots clanging, only one sound among those which the morning brought, was able to quickly rouse the tired couple from Imladris out of their rest: the moan of a son. Elrond, whom fatigue had thrown into the sleep of mortals, took an instant more to wake up. When he lifted his eyelids, Celebrian was beside their youngest, preventing him from rising.<p>

"Shh, it's alright ... Alright, _Rohir-nîn_. Do not get up yet," she told her son, who seemed confused. He looked at his mother with a frown, as if he did not recognize her or perhaps could not believe his eyes.

Elrond stood up then, quickly reaching his son, who now glanced fearfully all around the room.

"Be at peace, my child," he said, forcing the boy to lie back again, since it seemed that his mother was unable to convince him to do so.

Elrohir continued to resist, but he finally let his body fall back to the mattress with a muffled groan of pain. He continued to look around, seeming distressed and unable to understand what was happening. His mother just smiled, holding his hand firmly while Elrond checked his injuries, not masking his dissatisfaction with the outcome his son's sudden movements had caused.

"Now you need to behave yourself, child," he said in a worried tone. "You need to give peace to your body, or your recovery will take more time."

Elrohir did not seem bothered by his father's words of reproach or even with his injuries. His attention was still completely focused on the image that was especially intriguing him: His mother...

"It's alright, _Rohir-nîn_," Celebrian said, trying to reassure her son. When the boy frowned again, as if to ask something extremely important, she lifted the corners of her lips into a worried smile. She knew what was concerning him. "We came here to meet you. Everything is fine now. We are all going to stay together. But you need to go back to sleep, my little warrior, or you will not get better."

The twin's baffled face, however, had not changed, at least not until another person came within his range of vision. Elladan rose up on one elbow on the bed beside him, but barely had time to show any reaction, because the youngest, desperate, raised one hand in his brother's direction and, despite the apparent objection of their parents, almost pulled him from the bed, bringing the older twin close to him. When Elladan jumped to the floor and knelt beside the bed, his brother's eyes did not leave him, rounded in expectation.

Elrond and Celebrian looked at each other apprehensively. The mental communication of their children made them both uneasy, but now the brothers did not bother to disguise or deny what until then they had never admitted to anyone, even though their parents had received hints about it. The distress of the couple increased when they noticed Elrohir grow pale, as he slowly unraveled all the riddles of this strange morning. He and his brother continued to stare at one another, but sometimes the youngest tore his gaze away from his twin to look at his father or his mother, then at the room they were in, until, finally, all the things that Elladan was trying to clarify for him started to make sense.

And the final information must have been totally bleak, at least that was the conclusion the twins' parents came to when Elrohir broke free of the hands that held him, to sit on the bed, shaking his head in a vehement denial.

Elrond did not understand fully what had happened. In fact his conjectures were not the most optimistic, so he limited himself to watching his wife, who had taken the initiative to try to contain their child. The boy, however, raised his hand to keep his mother from coming any closer, and again shook his head violently, looking around like a caged animal searching for a way to escape.

"_Ion-nîn_…" she said softly. The child was so distressed that she was afraid to touch him now. "Elrohir… Everything is well, my dear," she said, trying to come closer. But she was surprised again when her son slammed his hand on the mattress beside him, dragging himself after it, and rising with difficulty on the other side of the bed. Elrond and Celebrian also got up, each voicing their own sounds of protest.

"Elrohir! Stop it, child! Let us know what's bothering you," Elrond said in a firm tone, but he still did not approach. He allowed Celebrian to persist in her charge, since Elrohir's eyes continued to be fixed upon her, as if he still couldn't believe what he was seeing. The lady-elf had walked slowly around the bed, while her son leaned trapped against the wall.

"_Ion-nîn_. Look at me. Everything is going to be alright," she tried to ensure, but the boy continued to shake his head, closing his eyes as if he greatly desired to awaken from a nightmare.

Celebrian breathed deeply, knowing that a delicate moment like this would not allow a reckless attitude. She then held one of the child's wrists with affection, just so that he would go no further, then sat back down on the bed in front of him, but did not compel him to do the same. She knew what to do, which of the doors to open in her heart to be able to sense what was bothering him. Elven mothers and their children had special bonds, so Elrohir's refusal to speak would not prevent her from knowing what he was feeling.

Elrohir kept his eyes squeezed shut, but soon reopened them. His breath came in gasps, even as he met the serene gaze of his mother, who was patiently waiting for him. His first reaction was to close them again, but instead he lowered his face, continuing to shake his head in a distressing negative. He could not calm down or find any comfort, even though his mother was desperately trying to give some to him.

When Celebrian looked at her husband, she could tell that they both had a suspicion about what bothered their son, even without Elrohir saying a word.

"Are you in such distress because we are not going to return Imladris again?" It was Elrond who tried to ask, still standing on the other side of the bed, while Celebrian caressed with her thumb the boy's wrist. "Have you hoped to come back, my boy? Did you want to continue the life we were living there?"

Elrohir promptly shook his head again, his eyes slowly becoming mirrors of sorrow, now that the outrage over the information he had received seemed somewhat cooled. However, he could not deny the truth that screamed at him from all that he was seeing and hearing:

He had run away to try to earn some redemption, taking the blame upon himself, where he felt it belonged, therefore freeing his family from it. But now he realized what he had begun to suspect since he had returned from the island with his father; since he had seen the reception that awaited them both at the port, and since his furtive departure from Círdan's city: Everything he did, in all of his movements, was digging a hole ever wider and deeper, and he was not the only one to be engulfed by his folly.

He squeezed his eyes shut again, stiffening his body so visibly that his mother was more concerned. Now she held his arm with both hands, caressing the child's clammy skin. It took some time for Elrohir to find the courage to open his eyelids again. He stood motionless for a moment, then lifted his head and faced his parents with the difficulty of someone who is doing that for the last time. He knew that they would never be safe with him beside them.

He looked at his mother, at Elladan, then at his father again. Finally, he took a deep breath, his eyes darkened, and he repeated an action that Elrond instinctively started to associate with the most terrible of emotions. The child hit his fist on his chest a few times, then pointed to his family and shook his head.

Celebrian closed her eyes for a second, as if that would prevent the meaning of his gesture to reach her. She then subtly pressed her son's wrist, retrieving his attention. When the boy turned his face toward her, contorted in anger and pain, it was a difficult challenge for Celebrian to keep her patient smile. She placed her free hand on the boy's bandaged chest.

"Don't you think you have been by yourself long enough, my wicked elfling?" she inquired calmly, trying to keep her heart peaceful, even when she saw that her tone, instead of calming the child, made him shudder. _Elbereth_, what could be passing through the child's heart and mind, that such ordinary words of playfulness would make him feel such insecurity?

Celebrian continued looking at him with patience and affection, letting silence envelop them for a while, hoping that her son's heart would calm a bit. She tried to read in those dark and bright orbs a way to make all the pain go away. But when Elrohir closed his eyes again, as if he felt a terrible pain, she realized that, whatever the child was thinking, she had to do everything possible to free him from it.

_Ilúvatar_, Elrohir was just a child. That was the truth. What this child had already faced was almost insane! She could scarcely imagine, hardly dared to conjecture, and perhaps could never ask him, the details of his hard adventure. Elrohir was just an elfling, and his hand stayed planted on his chest as if to point out that it should be him that received all the punishments, took all the blame.

"_Rohir-nîn_," she called him then, clinging to that childhood nickname, hoping it offered to him that certainty; the certainty that he continued to be who he was. That not everything had changed. "Dear one... We are a family... You are our little one, remember? We crossed this entire route to be together again, _Rohir-nîn_, and we would have crossed it many times if need be. We love you and want to be with you, sweetheart. No place in all Arda would make sense for us if we were not together. Let that be enough. Try to forget the rest, my dear. Try to leave behind all that has happened."

As she emphasized each sentence, moving her head in order to try and gain the child's eyes, new tears flowed slowly down the twin's face, while his mother's words echoed throughout the room. But he continued to shake his head, more slowly and sadly now.

"Do you not want to be with us, elfling? Is that what you're trying to tell us?" Celebrian provoked him then, still stroking his wrist. "Do you not love us anymore? Have you already grown used to roaming around without someone to tell you it is bedtime?"

The unpretentious joke made Elrohir press his eyes closed again, but if his mother had anticipated his reaction to her words she perhaps would not have said them. The boy lowered his face, his chin almost stuck to his chest, his body stiffened, and his crying increased. It had changed from short sounds of wailing lament to a seizure that he could not control. He even covered his face with both of his hands.

To Celebrian this last response was enough, and she decided to bring this conversation to an end. She pulled the child to her immediately, this time ignoring any protest or backlash. She made him sit down and wrapped him completely in her arms. But she soon realized that she would not have to expend any effort to keep him close to her, because the boy immediately hid his face in her shoulder, his body shaking in a cry that broke the hearts of all. After so long a silence, it was too sad for these to finally be the first sounds heard from the young elf.

"Oh, _Elbereth_. Do not be so sad, my dear." She rocked him now. "Do not cry so. Trust us, my little warrior. It'll be alright."

Only then Elrond approached, knelt before his son and made a brief gesture to his wife. They looked at each other and she finally fell silent with the information she read in her husband's eyes. This was the first time Elrohir had let himself be carried away by sadness, the first time he had been willing to allow it to flow through him and it was not as bad as it seemed. That's what the healer wanted to make his concerned wife realize, while he silently stroked the child's leg, giving him the time needed to recover.

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><p>When someone knocked on the door of the room, Elrohir was sleeping quietly in his mother's arms and did not wake. Elrond, who had sat on the bed beside Elladan, gave a brief nod to his wife and stood up slowly, opening the door to find the smiling face of Marach as he held a tray. Beside him a woman brought another.<p>

"Good morning, Lord Elrond. I hope I'm not bothering you."

"By no means, Lord Marach." Elrond looked somewhat apprehensively around the room, but finally opened the door. "Please come in."

The man passed him with his back slightly bent, but he politely did not look further into the room, limiting himself only to helping his assistant bring the meal to the family.

"I do not know what the children will need. The cook does not have a habit of baking cakes or sweets, but her bread is very good and we have a jam I am sure you're going to like."

"There is nothing to worry about," Elrond assured, moving a chair away from a desk on which the trays were being placed.

"There is also fruit and I can provide something more filling for lunch. Or perhaps a soup would be better? You said they were in recovery; perhaps they should eat something special."

"Do not worry, I beg you," Elrond insisted, very thankful for the consideration. He and Marach had talked for a while at the time of the family's arrival and soon the owner of the place showed his guest why he had won Eilafion's friendship. The man seemed genuinely concerned about the elven family's situation, about the children's health, and was reluctant to accept any payment for hosting. For that reason, perhaps, he was making a point to bring his guests the best things he had. "What you are offering us is too good, and from what I see, you are being courteous to the extreme."

"It's a pleasure to have you here." He smiled again. Marach was a man of great humor and interest in anything new. Although isolated in the little clearing, he seemed to enjoy the company and friendship of others. This sentiment certainly was what moved him to finally look deeper into the room, when his assistant left after a short bow of farewell.

Elrond swallowed his fears, allowing the man to give more attention to his family. The healer tried to picture them as their host might, his eyes sliding around the scene inside the room. It would be almost impossible for anyone observing them, not to consider this image of his family a very sad one. Elrohir was still in his mother's arms, but his eyes were now open. He had probably awoken with the newcomers' knock. Celebrian held him close. Elladan, who continued to take his place on the bed in front of his brother, did not even turn around to look at their host.

"My lady," Marach bowed respectfully when he received the Elf-Lady's gaze.

Celebrian smiled, less concerned with the presence of their benefactor than her husband had demonstrated. Marach seemed like a good man. A simple person for whom the universe was summed up in a small grove hidden in the hills, with his creative hobbies being one of the few things to occupy his time. He had the dark eyes of someone who is always analyzing what he sees, and then gaining great ideas, but also having the heavy and tired body of one who currently does not seem able to put many of them into practice.

"Lord Marach. I am very grateful for your kind hospitality," she said, bowing her head slightly in return for kindness received.

"It's a pleasure to be of some help, my lady," he assured, joining his hands in front of his body, seeming unable to decide if he would leave or perhaps stay and converse with them longer. He was not a person of formality and had never had such noble people under his roof. But he was concerned about the welfare of his guests, although he did not know exactly what to do about it. That's when instincts led him to look at the boy in his mother's arms. The little elf looked so sad and depressed; the man's heart was touched. "How is the boy?" he asked Elrond, who stood at his side.

"He recovers slowly. Thank you for your interest."

Marach continued staring at Elrohir for a few moments more, then, when Elladan turned slowly toward him, perhaps in search of his father, the man's eyebrows made the expected movement of surprise and confusion.

"They are twins," Elrond was quick to clarify.

"Ah ... I see..." Marach said, alternately looking at each child. He stepped forward and Elrond automatically moved into a defensive position without meaning to appear so cautious. The man turned with an air of apology on his face, seeming to have noticed the father's concern. He was not sure of what trouble they had encountered, nor dared to ask, but the state they were in, not only physical but emotional, especially of the children, made him conclude that the experiences of the past days had not been the best. "Excuse me, sir. I just wanted to see them more closely. I like children; we rarely have any here. But if I bother you..."

"No, Lord Marach. In no way do you bother us." It was Celebrian who smiled, trying to steer them away from the austerity of the situation. "This is Elrohir, our youngest," she said, stroking her son's arm, but still keeping him close to her. He was lying in bed, his body almost completely supported by his mother. "That's Elladan."

Marach smiled at the twins. Something in them was very sad to see, like a faint star that is trying to shine in a sky that is not quite dark enough. Suffering. That was what he read in the countenance of both. Suffering that seemed so out of place on faces so young.

Neither Elrohir, nor his brother returned the gaze received. The youngest kept his head against his mother's breast; the eldest had focused his attention on his interlaced fingers lying in his lap. Elladan finally looked away, but was worried when he noticed the stranger, after having scrutinized the two of them for more than a few moments, was starting to approach his brother.

"Hello, Elrohir," Marach said with a hesitant smile. "How are you feeling today? You seem better to me."

Elrohir took a deep breath, but could not help but cast a wary look at the gentleman, whose smile and kind words did not inspire any confidence he might have. After the journey he had endured, the young elf found it tremendously difficult to trust someone who was not a member of his family. To him every look, every gesture, and especially any excessive cordiality, made him feel strange. It was a feeling he could not explain, a shadow in his mind that left him cold. So when Marach took another step toward him, he cringed inwardly, but did not make a scene like a naughty child, because he did not want to embarrass his parents.

"He is even better. Aren't you, dear one?" It was his mother who, before the unreceptive attitude of her son, entered into the conversation so that the situation would not be too uncomfortable. But Elrohir did not appear willing to follow that social path, even with his mother helping him. All he did was move his eyes away, to keep them focused on a distant point in which only he seemed interested. Celebrian's lips tightened a little, then offered her host a patient smile that the man understood very well.

In fact, for the good man, who had no idea of all the nightmares of which the young elf had passed, Elrohir's cautious attitude seemed only the mere suspicion of a child. For this reason he just smiled back, but did not turn away, still staring curiously at the little elf in the arms of his mother.

"He really looks better," he commented, casting a quick glance at Elrond, who also followed the situation with contained apprehension. Diplomacy was an arduous task for any race.

"Yes. He is in fact improving. Soon he will be able to get up and enjoy the beautiful days in these woods," said Elrond, disguised in a formal smile, while he kept worried eyes on his child. Elrohir's earlier outburst didn't bring his parents any certainties about his psychological state, after all that he'd been through. It would be better if the good Marach did not test the protective barriers of an elfling such as Elrohir, who, even in perfect health, had never been the most sociable child.

Diplomacy and its moorings, Elrond also thought, watching his hopes vanish when the host contradicted the Lord-elf's desires and, instead of turning away, moved even closer to Elrohir.

"Surely you will be well very soon and will be able to go home," Marach was saying, as he approached. He certainly had the best of intentions, but the comment had the effect of making the young elf grow even paler. His eyes darkened so that Marach frowned. However, rather than being intimidated by the reaction of the boy, he took another step forward, a slow approach that was followed carefully by everyone in the room, and that again made Elrohir want to express his lack of satisfaction with the entire situation.

The truth was that Elrohir had not wanted to live another moment of uncertainty, after all he had gone through. He wasn't prepared right now for another experience, whether it was good or bad. He did not want to feel those feelings again, those moments that just seemed to have no end. Trudging through a cold swamp, being held by a group of dwarves, the dark harbor, the suspicious looks, the feeling of not being accepted anywhere, the angry waters of the ocean, the fear of death, the lonely island, being chased by a terrible wolf, the loneliness of a cold grave, the fear of not being able to prove his innocence ... the fear of losing everything he had...

Fear ... Fear of the unexpected... He clasped his hands together tightly, trying to contain the desire to run away, to escape from these feelings. He did not want anyone playing with him, he did not want to be touched, he did not want to have that sense of foreboding, of not knowing what the future held for him.

However, contrary to what Elrohir expected, Marach did not touch him when he was finally close enough to do it, nor did he try to make any more fun. He just looked at the boy with an affection that the twin did not understand.

"Yes. You'll be fine. I see you are a good warrior, aren't you, my little friend?" the man commented, with Elrohir's big eyes still turned toward him. A few instants later, he raised a closed hand near the young elf's face and waited a moment, deftly biding his time. The boy frowned suspiciously, but still didn't look back to his host. At last his eyes finally gave in to the pressure and landed, intrigued, on the man's fist.

Marach's smile widened then.

"You know, I think I have discovered your secret, and I know exactly what kind of fighter you are. Do you believe me?" he asked in a mysterious tone.

Elrohir's eyes moved quickly to Marach's face, as if questioning the quality of this game that he played. Finally the man's face grew serious once more. However, when Elrohir's eyes moved away again, dissatisfied with the entire situation, Marach slowly opened his hand and revealed something the twin did not expect to see; resting on his palm there was a small carved statue.

Elrohir parted his lips, at first puzzled, but then visibly interested, not only in the odd joke, but even more with the trinket he saw. It was a perfect swordsman, an elf with braided hair and a rather long sword pointed to the sky. Elrohir was so confused that, when Marach extended his hand, offering him the figure, he accepted it immediately and held it between his fingers hesitantly.

"Yes, my good boy. I think there is such a warrior inside you, isn't there?" the host's voice said again, in an even more friendly tone. "It must be hard, hmm? These warriors give us a lot of work. They keep asking us to do what is right. They keep asking us to do what is right, not necessarily what we are 'supposed' to do. Yes… they live within us and annoy us a lot."

Elrohir frowned again and the little color in his face weakened further. He then parted his lips, his tired eyes still gazing at the small figure, as if they were bewitched by it. When Marach started moving away, looking pleased to have given the child something that would at least entertain him; he noticed the glance of the young elf finally lift in his direction. The man received it in silence; he just smiled and offered a slight nod of agreement as if to reinforce his last words. Elrohir seemed to understand that, so he gradually felt himself also trying a little smile, and that for the host was better than any response. The child looked at the statue once more, before raising his hand to return it.

Marach, however, was quick to gently push the boy's hand away, realizing the elf's intention of returning the toy. "You know..." He smiled softly. "Sometimes we must let the warrior go, but we will always keep an eye on him, won't we?"

This time the response received was even better, because the look the young elf gave him next had an added brightness to it, and he offered a smile to the good host that was different from the one before. It was not a large smile of an elfling winning a new toy, but of a child who seems to finally be awakening from a nightmare.

Marach was carried away by Elrohir's reaction, even without properly understanding its meaning. What crossed his mind was that his little game had been happier than he had expected. Who would have imagined that a simple wooden swordsman would be so important, and the boy looked like the figure did have a special meaning to him, a meaning that only he knew. What could it be?

When the host finally straightened his back, Elrohir looked at him again and bowed his head slightly in a silent thank you that the man did not expect. Behind Marach, Elrond also smiled at what he saw.

"He is a good boy," Marach told the healer, as he found that his eyes could not leave the sight of that mysterious child. "For sure he will make you a very proud father."

"He has already done that," Elrond replied immediately, meeting his son's gaze as soon as he completed his sentence. Elrohir took a deep breath and his eyes twinkled, but he pressed his lips into a thin line, and the corners formed a very subtle smile as he continued to look at the statue he'd won.

"In fact both of them have," Elrond completed, moving his eyes now to his silent firstborn, who looked with an equally slight smile at the scene in front of him; his brother carefully analyzing the gift he had received. Elladan looked so pleased he did not even realize that he'd received any praise from his father.

Marach's gaze wandered to where the Elf-lord's had gone and he came to the same conclusion. Only then he realized something and thought that there might still be time to enjoy a good breeze and, with luck, a chance to take the boat a little further. He took a deep breath and stepped close to the older twin.

"Elladan. That is your name, isn't it, my little friend?" His voice again had that tone that seemed to please everyone, but the older twin looked up, startled. "You know, I think your father is right. I think you two are very effective warriors. What do you think? Are you a good warrior like your brother?" he asked in an enigmatic tone, leaning in as if to look at the elfling closely.

Elladan's eyes shifted uneasily. He had enjoyed the trick that the man had performed, the way his hand had come from nowhere, and had then presented the carved figure to Elrohir. But he had never been as adept at tricks and surprises as his brother was and did not want everyone's attention on him, as seemed to be happening at the moment.

"Well... you might not be a warrior like your brother," Marach said, and his voice sounded distant, almost a dreamlike, as his eyes drifted across the room a few times, before returning to settle on the older twin. "Maybe you're different," he added, raising his closed hand again in the older twin's direction.

Elladan held his breath, trying to ignore the man's provocative attitude. But his curiosity, identical to his brother's, would not allow him to remain indifferent for long. He was soon carefully watching those fingers, although with some apprehension, while allowing himself to enjoy the subtle game. In his still tired mind, he wondered if there would really be a warrior in that hand... pondered if there could even be a warrior in him like there was inside his brother. Perhaps there wasn't. Perhaps he, unlike Elrohir, would not have been able to walk the path full of dangers alone as his twin had.

When Marach finally stretched his fingers apart, again he matched everyone's expectations, but the man added an unexpected element to the new situation: There was another carved statue in that skilled craftsman's hands, but it was not a swordsman. It was the perfect likeness of an archer, a high elf carrying a huge bow, with two arrows notched in the bowstring. Elladan paled in surprise and Elrohir let out a contained laugh that no one had heard in a very long time.

"Look at this…"Marach said craftily. So was I right?" the man asked, continuing to joke, watching affectionately as the twin raised his hand and carefully grasped the statue between his fingers. "You prefer the bow to the sword, don't you?" he asked, seeing how the boy gazed at the figure.

Distracted, Elladan nodded. His face was completely awed as he took in the details of that little soldier. After a few moments, however, he looked back to Marach with a shy smile and stretched out his arm again to give back the figure. The good man refused the offer, as he had done before, shaking his head now, but holding Elladan's hand with his big ones.

"Did you know, Elladan, that among all the soldiers, the archer is the most important one?" he asked, and when the older twin frowned in curiosity, Marach smiled again, letting the boy's hand go and looking at the two brothers alternately. "I am a great student of the arts of war. Ask your father if I'm not right," he added, giving a quick look to Elrond to ensure that his little chat with the children was not being misunderstood. After receiving a small smile and nod from the Elf-lord, he continued. "The swordsman depends on his weapon and skill, but the archer also depends on luck, and the love of the Lord of the winds and storms, for the guidance of all arrows. Every warrior who decides to be an archer, actually serves a calling and is much loved for it," he added, keeping his eyes on the older twin for a few moments.

But Elladan did not return his gaze; he lowered his eyes to the figure in his hands again, as if his mind was fully captured by what Marach had told him, and his thoughts were now bound up by that detail, and in fact completely occupied. It was only when Marach's hand touched Elladan's face subtly that the twin reacted by raising his eyes to their host. Soon there was also a small smile on his face, and he moved his head in a gentle thank you.

Marach also smiled and, for a moment before leaving, looked at Elrohir once more.

"Having an archer on your side means to share his fate; it doubles the luck," he said to the youngest. "It makes me believe that you will be a perfect pair of warriors," he completed, with a short and sweet laugh that brought a smile to everyone, even the brothers.

Elladan looked at the figure in his hands for a while longer, only a few minutes later realizing that his twin was watching him. Elrohir smiled at him then, and there was much meaning in that look and that smile, that the older twin had not seen in a very great while. Elrohir's small act touched his brother's heart. Elladan rose quickly and went to sit near his mother and brother.

Marach followed the movement and lingered a moment longer looking at the two identical young elves with covert curiosity. The twins looked at each other and exchanged their statues, analyzing them carefully with small smiles on their faces. Soon each one had his warrior back in hand again, staring absently at the figure he'd won.

"They made a pact of silence," Elrond explained, noticing the air of confusion he saw in their host. Marach looked at him with an expression of one who did not hear well. "My sons made a pact of silence... I'm not sure for what specific reason. Also I'm not sure when it will end."

Marach continued to analyze the brothers, who occasionally glanced at each other in a very intriguing way.

"They seem to talk... with one another..." he observed, a bit confused. He was feeling very foolish saying that. But when the children's father just sighed, that statement did not seem to be so foolish, as strange as the idea was. "They have great personality," Marach said then. "How long have they been so quiet?"

"Over three seasons."

"By the winds of the north! That's too long, is not it? Or do the elves see things differently?"

"Time passes for the elves as it passes for anyone in certain times," Elrond noted, seeing his wife move her eyes toward him and remembering the night they had spent together. Celebrian offered him a small smile, as if reading his thoughts at the moment and sharing the bittersweet feeling of her husband. "The good emotions seem short; those not so pleasant take a bit longer to leave us... But everything comes and goes... for men and elves..." he completed, returning the subtle smile of his wife.

Elrond got the distinct impression that Marach was not the simple man he'd assumed he was upon their first meeting. The host then waved a brief farewell to the boys, advising them to try the jam that he'd brought, and getting shy smiles and nods in response. When Marach reached the door, Elrond rested his hand on the man's shoulder.

"I am very grateful. Very grateful indeed, my friend," he said sincerely.

The man was moved by Elrond's gesture, more so than he had already been with the situation of the family. He had spent the night thinking about them. A couple alone in a dark forest full of dangers, with two injured children and many problems to solve. He hoped to help them more.

"Nonsense. I did nothing," he said, making a brief movement with his hand. Then Elrond looked back at the children, trying to show his new friend what he thought was the purpose of the thanksgiving, and Marach repeated the casual gesture. "Nah. The toys? They are simple things. I like wood carvings. I did them myself. I have an army of them." And he laughed. "They are nothing special. I am glad to give them to the children and to see that they are enjoying them as well."

"I thank you not only for the sculptures, Master Marach. To me, they were gifts of great value," Elrond said and there was more than sincerity in his eyes; there was a genuine expression of gratitude. "But the laughter you drew from them; that is something their mother and I have not heard for a long time, and is a gift that no gold can buy."

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><p>As time passed, the next sunny days in that idyllic place added up to hours of serenity for the Imladris family. They finally felt able to dispel some of their fears, and in their place welcome more pleasurable emotions. For this reason when Celebrian saw Elrohir standing at the window after he'd been in bed for all those days, all she thought of doing was offering the most commonplace of comments.<p>

"It's a beautiful day today, isn't it, my elfling?"

Elrohir was startled with the sudden question. He had been alone when he woke up and hadn't noticed his mother enter the room. But Celebrian merely smiled. She was so happy to see her son up willingly that she wasn't of a mind to chastise him for having done it with no one around to assist him if necessary. It seemed as if ample time had passed, and he was healed enough to move about by himself.

Elrohir glanced at his mother, then turned to look outside again. The room they were in was on the third floor of the bizarre construction, but from his window he had a nice view of the scenery beyond, the trees subtle shades of green that grew mysteriously darker the further he gazed.

The twin looked into the distance, which wasn't that far because of all the trees. Not long ago, a horizon such as this reflected the immensity of a whole world, but now, for him, these woods, and what could be beyond them, were just other places where he could go if he wanted to. Maybe they would really need to go somewhere else, since his family no longer had a place to which to return, a place they could call home.

His mother's thoughts, however, did not seem to wander in the ways that Elrohir's did. Celebrian held her child with care, bringing him to lean against her. She liked the feeling of having him there at her fingertips. When the door opened again, this time mother and son turned to see Elrond come into the room accompanied by his firstborn. Elladan smiled when he saw that his brother was standing after several days of recovery, and he ran to him.

"It seems that the winds of the storm we had last night eventually took other paths," Elrond noted, as soon as he received his wife in his arms. His healer's eyes analyzed with relief the scene of their children together once more. Elladan and Elrohir were appreciating the intense blue sky that they were seeing out the window this day. The picture of their dark-haired heads side by side in front of that view, which was also full of prospects, touched Elrond, and he felt that some minor actions now would not be too risky. "Why do you not go outside to enjoy the evening downstairs ionath-nîn? If you go down with care and promise not to overdo, I believe the end of the day will provide you a beautiful vision."

The twins turned toward their father with identical looks on their faces and Elrond offered them the patient smile that always pacified their fears, from the tiny ones to the deeper and more intricate ones. Elrohir looked at the landscape out the window, as if making sure that it was indeed safe to leave. It was nearly unbelievable that, after enduring almost his entire journey under all kinds of rain, the sun had come back smiling. Better than the smile the day seemed to have, however, was the one his family gave him now, that would motivate him to go out in any circumstances, regardless of the weather.

Elrond held his breath for an instant when he saw his youngest son take his brother's hand. Elrohir took the initiative to seek and win the door, without waiting for any instruction, looking for the path that would lead them both into that unknown garden. Although all his suffering could have compromised his spirit, it seemed as if he had not changed in this regard.

Celebrian observed the same scene with a similar feeling warming her heart, and her smile widened when she heard her husband shouting a warning to the children to be careful. She tightened her arms around the Elf-lord. Elrond looked into her eyes.

"Where were you?" she asked.

"Talking to a group of newcomers—merchants—getting some information."

The Lady-elf raised her eyebrows in question.

"Where are they from?"

"Beyond the harbor, a village west of the Ered Luin. It seems that maybe the Blue Mountains are a place to which we might want to go."

"On the other shore?"

"Yes. From what I know of the leader, we would be welcomed in the village where they live."

Celebrian was thoughtful a moment.

"Edain People?" she asked.

"Yes. But no direct descendant of Elros. They are a newly established village. A few people seemed to have fallen out with the family patriarch and joined the remnants of another region that has suffered losses due to an unknown plague. Many diseases go through that area; my presence might even be of some help. Anyway, they seem peaceful people, but you never know."

The expression of the lady of Rivendell fell with the inconsistency of that comment. This time it was Elrond to give a slightly enhanced embrace. He smiled at his wife when those clear eyes found his again.

"Our future may be uncertain, my Star," he said, tenderly kissing her forehead. "But still, I would not trade today for any of the yesterdays I've had in recent seasons."

Celebrian smiled slightly, then sighed.

"What matters to me is that we walk together, on any day, to any place," she said, while continuing to hold Elrond's gaze.

The wise lord of Rivendell could think of no response to the comment he'd received, but the tone of his eyes slightly changed, before he kissed the lips of his wife and brought her even closer to him. When he felt her lay her head against his chest, all he could think of was that the unshakable confidence that she had in him was motivating and frightening at the same time. However, he felt that the thrill generated by the words she had said contained the most powerful energy that he could have at his disposal.

"I think we should also go down to enjoy the last moments of the day," he said. The children were almost recovered, but it was not at all excessive to keep an eye on them for a while. Celebrian moved away at once with a smile of satisfaction. She also had been too long in this room with their youngest, so the idea of seeing the day beyond the window pleased her.

Recognizing the obvious delight that his wife showed, Elrond rushed to reopen the door, waiting for her to pass, and then offering her his arm as they walked down the corridor.

The hostel was not very wide, and the walls reserved the color and odor of the original wood. Small trunks of eucalyptus were tied juxtaposed in some places, or sometimes further apart, one from another, because of the wood's natural bending as it dried. The wind, as well as the golden sunlight of late afternoon, rushed through here and there between the gaps in the wood.

They went down the spiraling steps that led to the first floor. There was a small reception area on the landing, with a few old upholstered pieces of furniture, carpets equally old and a counter full of scrolls and other papers, from behind which smiled the face of old Marach.

"Hello, Elrond!" he greeted, bowing politely, and delighted to see that the elf had come down accompanied by his wife. Over time Elrond had won the small diplomatic battle with his good host, and now they both agreed to be greeted by their first names. "My lady."

"Hello, Lord Marach." Celebrian returned the greeting with a gentle smile, as the couple approached the counter. Marach came around to receive them. "It's a beautiful day."

"Without a doubt. The sun's rays are a blessing, the best remedy for many problems."

"That's true," she agreed. "We thought we might watch the sunset," she said, now looking at her husband. However, he seemed unexpectedly distracted. Celebrian was intrigued. Elrond had his eyes on the piece of pinkish sky they could see from where they were, and he suddenly looked thoughtful and concerned. "Elrond?" she said, and then she was treated with the favor of his gaze. "What's the problem, my dear? Are you restless for some reason?"

"No... No, Star of mine," Elrond replied in a tone of apology. His gaze then settled on their host who was now watching him with some concern. "Excuse me. I am grateful for the hospitality, Marach. I was just thinking about the conversation I had with your new guests."

"Ah, yes." The man showed understanding. "They offered you an invitation to live in their village, didn't they?"

"Yes. I think it is a proposal to be considered," Elrond said, even though he was still distracted, and Celebrian's golden eyebrows curved downward into a frown, making her look unhappy with something. She did not think that that was the real reason for the restlessness of her husband. She knew him well and knew that when his eyes darkened that way, it was because his mind was also darkened by some uneasy thought.

Even as she thought about pulling him into a corner to ask him about that, the door of the reception area opened and Elrohir came in like a whirlwind, grabbing his father by the waist and hiding his whole body behind the Elf-lord.

"_Ion-nîn_," Elrond started, and his hand went to his sword in vain, the instincts of a warrior that he had never lost. His weapon, however, was still in their room. "Where is your brother?" he asked urgently then, but Elladan came to the door before his father could even think to move. Their firstborn was as pale as his twin, but did not seem scared, just concerned. Elrond looked at him from head to toe, before asking his question.

"Elladan. What happened, child?"

The twin's answer was a big and painful sigh, before he moved his eyes to the door through which he had passed. It was Marach who moved quickly to learn what had happened. Unlike Elrond, the host had a dagger hidden at his waist, belted in back. When he reached the door to see about all the commotion, his face was one of dismay and doubt. He turned to his guests and announced:

"Elves... Lord Eilafion and Lord Círdan are with them."

Only then did Elrond press his lips together, now understanding the reason for Elrohir's concern. He knew what had moved his friends to come here. As he was trying to decide what arguments he might give and the necessary apologies he would have to make to Círdan, his wife approached the large main window. However, he could not do so, because, when he started to move to face what he thought was waiting for him, Elrohir continued to hold on to him tightly, preventing him from moving a single step.

"Everything is going to be alright, _ion-nîn_. Trust me."

That phrase did not have the desired effect and soon the reason for it was more than clear. Celebrian's face grew pale as well, and her stricken expression mirrored that of their children, when she managed to see what awaited them outside.

"Elrond..." she said, looking at her husband with apprehension. "My father is with them."

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><p>Thanks a lot to all reviewers for <span>chapter 22<span>. Your opinion made my day. It is a pleasure to know you are reading, so thanks to: **shine lots****, ****Gwedhiel0117****, ****DreamingIn2Eternity****, ****melissamed,****world-classgeek****, ****Evereven****, ****Myriara****, ****Sivan Shemesh****, ****LalaithElerrina****, ****Oleanne,****Glory-Bee****, ****Lia Whyteleafe****.** And many, many thanks to **Puxinette**, my patient beta and friend.


	24. Reattached Ties

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

Obs: _Italics _are memories.

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XVI – REATTACHED TIES<strong>_

"_Things that do not depend on you can happen at any time."_

Acídio Alan

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><p>It was early on one of the many dawns that the company had spent together, and the horses once again took to the paths they'd been traveling. Elrohir squirmed where he sat, strangely uncomfortable with the temperature drop. He felt the hood of his father's cloak cover him as the older elf's strong arms embraced his trembling body, giving him the same assurances he had been receiving during all the recent days. Elrohir opened his eyes just a little, enough to see the horse that mirrored the journey of his father's steed. Roquen trotted beside them, with a few strands of his silver mane entwined between the Lady of Imladris' fingers.<p>

"Go back to sleep, _Rohir-nîn_." The sound of her voice came toward him, and he felt a moment's hesitation, wondering if he was really hearing her or if it was just another dream, like so many he'd had about her during his long and tiresome trip.

As if to assure him that he was actually awake and not in the throes of another good dream, his father's palm came across his field of vision, covering his eyes lightly.

"Sleep, _ion-nîn_. We still have a few more hours before dawn. Sleep... Just sleep..."

Sleep... Just sleep... The quiet voice of his father continued filling those empty places in his mind. It had been some time now since last he'd thought about what to expect in his future, as well as about what had already happened in the past. He had given up conjecture, had ceased to fear and to deny what he really wanted. He wanted to be with his family, no matter where. He wanted to be in his father's shadow, he wanted to hold his mother's hand; he wanted to have opportunities to look to his brother, for Elladan's help, for Elladan's approval. He wanted a normal life, no matter what kind of roof would be over his head.

Therefore, when the company led by Celeborn and Círdan arrived, what Elrohir feared most was that his grandfather would take him away again. He had claimed his guardianship over Elrohir once; he could do it again, especially after everything else he had done.

For this reason, even after having received his father's assurances that they would never be separated again, he was still very afraid. For the first time, the presence of his grandfather, who until recently had brought him immense pleasure, now filled him with despair.

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><p><em>When Marach finally understood what the appearance of the elves in the clearing meant, he sought to provide shelter and some attention to them, plus a small place in which they could meet. He knew that an urgent matter seemed to be waiting for just the right place and time to be resolved. <em>

_In the hostel garden, under another oak almost identical to the principal one, the host had built a small shelter in order to provide a dining place outdoors on calm days. There were a number of rustic wooden tables, a fireplace and a large wood stove, on which several pots steamed, giving off different aromas, warming the place a little. _

_The tables were covered with colored tablecloths. Círdan's soldiers and the elves that came in Celeborn's retinue were settling in the farthest seats. Elrond and his family positioned themselves at the other end of the place, away from the door, but near a large window, from which they could see the garden that the children had barely been able to explore as of yet. Celebrian took a chair at the request of her husband, but Elrond chose to stand by her side. He noticed that Celeborn had not taken a seat yet; the lord of Lothlorien merely stood in front of another window, and although his eyes had been on the landscape he seemed to be studying, Elrond had the distinct impression that his father-in-law sought, in fact, to use it as an excuse for not looking in his direction. That could not be good, he knew, and even Celebrian shuddered at her father's absolute silence. It appeared that Celeborn would leave the responsibility of speaking for the newcomers to Círdan._

_Contrary to what Elrond had hoped, Eilafion had refused to keep their plans secret for long. As Círdan related the story, the moment that he heard that Elrond had decided to cross such dangerous territory with his still recovering child, without the certainty of shelter waiting for him, he had immediately sent soldiers in search of information about his friend. When news was brought that Elrond had not only faced a group of orcs before he reached the place indicated by Eilafion, but also met his wife and his firstborn along the way, Círdan felt that he had tolerated enough of the healer's foolishness. _

"_You did what, Círdan?" Elrond was so surprised with the news that closed his friend's speech, he forgot the diplomatic rules still required by the positions of them both. _

"_I sent a message to the 'wise lords' of your land and told them about what happened on the island." Elrond listened carefully as Círdan repeated his last sentence, this time with the word "fools" that he'd previously used replaced by 'wise lords', but with an undeniable and much sharper tone of irony in his voice. _

"_But..." Elrond tried not to despair with that information. After all, he was in front of his children, whose presence had been requested in this brief meeting. Elladan's eyes were attached to his father as he sat there by his mother, but Elrohir, sitting alongside his brother, kept his gaze firmly on the ground in front of him, holding himself as still as someone who feared to breathe. "Círdan... you ..." he began. However, seeing the self-assured look his friend had directed at him, he completely lost his motivation to speak. _

_That was Círdan, the master of the seas. Sitting in a chair, back straight, legs slightly apart, hands resting on knees, deep eyes, the elf who had awakened with the first of the Eldar of Arda looked like an indestructible marble statue. There were those who said that the eyes of the lord of the ships were able to freeze elves and seas. Elrond did not know if that was true, but before his sudden lack of words, he began to suspect so. _

"_Tell me what bothers you, Elrond," Círdan said, and it was only after that invitation that the curator felt he would be able to say what worried his heart._

"_I... I just wonder, mellon-nîn ... If your actions might not have increased the list of culpable deeds to which my name is associated," Elrond said carefully, but felt, nonetheless, his youngest son trembling beside his brother. That's why he was so reluctant to have the children here, and had only agreed to their presence because of Círdan's request. He knew that once again being the focus of a meeting, the way he had been in the past, was something for which Elrohir was not yet recovered enough. He did not want his child to go back to feeling responsible for his family's fate. Elrond sighed, still worried, noticing as Elladan drew subtly closer to his twin and Elrohir closed his eyes with that contact. _

"_I do not think any culpable act is associated with your name now, Elrond," Círdan offered, and when Elrond gave him a puzzled look, his eyes slipped toward the Elf-lord who stood a few steps away._

_Celeborn's face still held its intense seriousness, though there were times that it showed distinct uneasiness, as he listened to the entire story Círdan told them. When Celeborn finally settled his powerful eyes on his son-in-law, Elrond had to mentally repeat who he was, so as not to lose track of his own thoughts. It was at the very least uncomfortable to imagine what his father-in-law, someone who had always supported him, might now think about the stance that Elrond had taken._

"_I know I owe you explanations, Celeborn." Elrond stepped forward, especially affected by the stony silence of the Elf-lord. Celeborn's expression, however, was not one of a person who was actually waiting for any explanation. On the contrary, it was that of someone who already had a very clear idea of the circumstances as he saw them. Elrond watched as Celeborn slowly exhaled, and then as he moved his eyes to meet his daughter's gaze._

_Celebrian stayed firm, even as she felt the total disappointment in her father's face, but she couldn't fathom all of his motives. _

_To Celeborn, moments like these, when Celebrian let her tenacity show, were what made her her mother's daughter._

_And as they all slowly studied each other, the silence grew. A sticky silence that was not complete because it was intermittently broken by the hum and light chatter of the elves at the far end of the hall. Celeborn looked out the window one brief moment more, then he breathed deeply and moved away from it toward his family._

"_Círdan's speech in his report to the Lords of Imladris was quite convincing," he said, coming to sit next to the Lord of Haven and gesturing to his son-in-law to also take a seat. _

_Elrond hesitated, not knowing what to say or what to expect, but he finally pulled up a chair and placed it next to his youngest son. Elrohir trembled again, finally lifting his eyes to judge his father's state of mind, and was surprised to see him sitting at his side with a quick, but reassuring smile. Elrohir did not know why, but this act seemed to forcibly pull any fear from him that he might still be feeling. They had experienced everything together; they would not be lost now with new fears at this particular moment, before their loved ones, those who, despite everything, still worried about them. Elrond took a deep breath, also fortified in that certainty. _

"_Círdan compromised himself because of me. And so I am grateful," Elrond said, placing his hand over his heart to emphasize the truth of his words. "After everything he has done and the ungrateful repayment he has received from me, I can only feel embarrassed, but be appreciative for the help he has given to me."_

"_They want you back, Elrond. You and your family," Círdan said in response, doing what he did best, breaking the often unnecessary diplomacy that cooled the place more than the actual winter did outside._

_Elrond's expression seemed lost for a moment, as if the two of them had written a text together and suddenly the next line did not match the expected sequence._

"_I beg your pardon, but..." he tried to say._

"_They want you back," Círdan repeated, looking his friend in the eyes now, trying to persuade him of this truth in more than mere words. "They have now convinced themselves that the boy is not guilty of that for which he'd been charged. Everything that occurred was set in motion by a series of misfortunes and hasty decisions on the parts of all. To be honest, my good Elrond, this is the only portion of those fools' decrees with which I do agree. Lately it seems that you all are acting before thinking."_

_Elrond finally frowned in a way that was characteristic of him. Despite the implicit challenging tone of his friend's voice, his eyes fell on Celeborn's, waiting for a confirmation he could not readily read in his father-in-law's expression._

"_They want you to return," Celeborn affirmed, in a less forceful tone than Círdan's, but in an honest one._

"_It is the land that you envisioned, Elrond. They should not have ever condemned you as they did," Círdan also said._

"_They should have," Elrond said in disagreement. "It was their right." Elrond began to think there was something between Círdan's lines that he was not able to read, something that displeased him. "Were you in Rivendell? Have you spoken to someone?"_

"_No. But I would like to have been there." Círdan understood the implication of Elrond's words. "Perhaps I should have gone. It would have been interesting to reacquaint myself with certain of those elves, in order to reserve for them the worst of my craft in case of need."_

_Elrond's eyebrows practically met in the center of his forehead, but a little laugh escaped one of his sons, perhaps from the two of them, he could not guess; a slight smile was also on his wife's rosy lips, warming in a positive way the mood of those present. He took a bolstering breath, and then turned to face the stern figure of Celeborn._

"_I know you want what is best for us, even with our seemingly ungracious attitudes," he said, this time facing Celeborn with courage. The older elf appeared to be immensely willing to listen to the speech that seemed to be stuck in Elrond's throat. Celeborn's silence was worse than the most severe of reprimands. "However, I search for an understanding of these unexpected events... I..." He hesitated a moment before his wife's silent father, who was staring at him. "I need to know what has changed the counsel's opinion. I need the truth. I have to understand what you said to them, my lord Celeborn."_

_And the formal tone, along with the extreme sincerity of the questioning, eventually softened the intense features of the Elf-lord's face. Celeborn also gave a brief sigh and his eyes quickly passed over Elrohir and Celebrian before he answered. _

"_I said nothing. I said nothing and did nothing, because I knew nothing of it," he assured, his eyes now fixed on his daughter. "When your absence was finally discovered, the lords of the land contacted me, and they had already made the decision they had in mind. I suppose your friends Erestor and Glorfindel are perhaps more responsible for this reversal of the facts ruling than I am. My presence here is just a formality; they thought that if the request for your return came from me, you would more readily accept it."_

_Celebrian's lips parted, feeling that the tone used by her father at the end of his sentence was of someone upset or disappointed. A strange sadness hung about him._

"_Have you come here to do this, Adar-nín?" she inquired, a bit confused and skeptical. "Have you come forward to represent the Lords of Imladris?"_

_Celeborn inhaled slowly._

"_It was one of the reasons; I came because I promised to do it." _

"_But that's not your reason for being here ..." The lady-elf concluded, still meeting her father's gaze._

"_No. I came because I needed to understand something that has bothered me tremendously. I came in search of an important answer. But now I realize that I have always had the knowledge I sought, and what brought me here was only the need for a confirmation, even with its bitter taste."_

_Celebrian's brows furrowed, and her face drained sharply. This time her eyes sought her husband before returning to settle on her father, but she was not afraid to ask the question she knew she must ask._

"_What answer, Adar-nín?"_

_Celeborn sighed, relaxing his body a little in the chair in which he sat. He seemed tired._

"_When your mother and I left you that morning, your husband had already gone in search of your son, hadn't he, Celebrian?" he asked, and his jaw clenched hard when he saw his daughter pale even more, even though she did not look away from him._

"_I asked her to hide my absence, Celeborn." Elrond took the defense of his wife, not wanting her motivations misunderstood. _

"_You asked her to wait in Rivendell too, I presume." The Elf-lord stared at his son-in-law, who was speechless. "My daughter never takes a stance for something in which she disagrees, Elrond. And you, as her husband, in good times and ill ones, certainly know this as well as I do."_

_Elrond took a deep breath, then looked down. "It was not fair to involve you in a situation such as this," Elrond said trying to justify his wife's actions. _

"_I was involved, Elrond. I was present when the problem was established. I was taken out for a different reason," he said, now looking at each of them alternately. _

_Celebrian's expression was now tender with the realization of what sort of feeling had grown in her father's heart. _

"_Do you think we do not trust in you anymore? Do you think I didn't tell you the truth because I did not trust you, I did not believe you would help me?" she asked, completely unhappy with the situation. _

_Her father's reply did not make her feel better._

"_I actually feel something a little worse than that," Celeborn replied, but before his daughter could comment, his eyes took on a glow that she knew very well, a glint in them that always quieted her protests and made her wait for what was coming. "When I took my horse to come here, my heart was merely haunted by a suspicion, but that feeling became a certainty in the worst way." _

_This time Celebrian could not make herself ask the question concerning what the Elf-lord had left the air. The need to, however, disappeared as Celeborn's eyes moved toward the younger twin, and the lines of the lord-elf's face softened at last. _

"_In the worst way possible ..." Celeborn repeated. "There is not only lack of trust between us now... There is something else ... There's something more ..."_

_Elrohir looked up when he felt the Elf lord's eyes on him, and he looked at his grandfather for the first time since his arrival. He realized then that this conversation did not just apply to the adults, as was the other in which he had participated. They were not discussing matters that did not concern him, nor were they making important decisions about which he had no power. They were not just talking about him…_

_Celeborn continued looking at his grandson, as Elrohir thought back to the earlier conversation, and the realization hit him as to what his grandfather had been alluding to. It now seemed to make some sense. Elrohir swallowed then, thinking that maybe now he would receive the reprimand that he had been waiting for, since his father had found him on the island. No one had complained yet, nobody had mentioned anything about the misbegotten plan he had put into action, about the nightmare he had caused his family to go through. Yes, maybe now his grandfather would take this role for himself. _

_Elrohir could not blame him. Actually he had been waiting for an even worse censure from someone. When he saw the group of elves led by the Lord of the Grey Havens, his heart had been concerned because he knew what his father had done for him. But the moment he noticed the presence of Celeborn amongst those elves, an uncontrollable despair filled him, so that now he could not even remember the moments that followed until he reached his father, inside the inn. Perhaps his grandfather had called out to him ... Yes, he vaguely remembered hearing his name…_

"_I want you to listen to what I will tell you, Elrohir," Celeborn said, directing his speech to his grandson. He seemed to hesitate at first, regret softening his manner, when he saw that the boy had grown petrified, as he listened to him get directly to the heart of the matter. Celeborn was calling Elrohir by name and that was not a good sign for the young elf. From an early age, he had earned a nickname from his grandfather, and Celeborn called him by that most of the time. _

"_I want you to know something very important, and I want you to keep it within yourself as unquestionably true, as a promise," the Elf-lord continued, and his eyes that were always so clear took on a hint of dusk. He then focused fully on his grandson, before completing what he had to say. "Elrohir, I want you to know that never, at any time, and under no circumstances, will I take you away from your family again, unless that is your desire, even if the noblest intentions are my reason. Do you understand what I am saying?"_

_Elrohir held his breath, but it took him longer than usual to release the air. To Celeborn that showed that his words still aroused more fear than certainty in the young elf. Elrond put his hand on top of his son's leg, as if to remind him that there was a question that should be answered. Only then did Elrohir nod his head in a tentative confirmation. _

_Celeborn slumped in the chair in which he sat, and his eyes finally reflected the sadness he had been trying to hide. _

"_So be it," he said after a painful and resigned sigh. His features still showed unhappiness, although they were different now from what they had been before. He then shook his head and sighed again before venturing another look at his grandson, whose reaction was now clearly shown by eyebrows that were slightly drawn together. "Ah, Astalder. I hope to one day be worthy of your trust again. And not be someone who will awaken fear in you, someone from whom you think you should run."_

_Only then Elrohir seemed to understand what was behind this entire speech. His heart was invaded by other harder sensations, as if he had just been punched in the stomach. His chin and his lips were slightly parted and trembling. Celeborn kept looking at him and there was great sadness in his eyes. The boy could hardly stand what he read in the Elf-lord's face, the meaning between the words he had heard, in the cold silence which was present again. Elbereth, only now did he understand it all, even as he desired not to._

_Oh the evil he had done to people, that he was now only slowly discovering ... Taking a rusty sword, remaking it for himself; who had known what these childish acts would sow? The things he now saw even in the powerful figure of his grandfather. _

_When Celeborn finally lowered his eyes again, moving them to another place, Elrohir was taken by an intense feeling of abandonment, and a foolish fear that his grandfather would never look at him again. But what if it were true? What if his grandfather felt as if he needed to stay away from him?_

_Ilúvatar! He did not want his grandfather to stay away. He did not want him hurt like that. _

_It was that unbearable fear that, magnified by other even more remorseful thoughts, tore the twin from his place. He stood in a rush, and before anyone could do anything to stop him, he ran to his grandfather and hugged him tightly. Celeborn, at first surprised, opened his arms without any other reaction. Elrohir had another moment of fear before he felt his grandfather's hands embracing him with the same urgency, bringing him into his lap and letting him stay there with his head resting on his shoulder to hide a face now bathed in tears._

"_Astalder, Astalder ..." repeated the silver-haired elf, with a sad smile amid sighs of relief and exhaustion, while slowly rocking his grandson. "Everything about you is strength and determination, is not it? Everything you do has the potential to take our breath away," he added, then gave a little laugh to feel his grandson smiling through the tears that were still pouring from his eyes. _

_Celebrian was the next to rise and go to meet her father. She took a few steps and knelt before him, laying her hand on his knee. When Celeborn's eyes met hers, much of what had already separated them seemed extinct._

"_Forgive me, ada ..." she said. "I was wrong not to tell you."_

_The Elf-lord moved his hand, running his fingers through the curls of his daughter's hair, the seriousness again on his face. Elrohir moved his head a little in order to look at his mother, but he did not pull away. Celeborn's hand continued to stroke his arm, while with the other the Elf-lord fingered the rings of his daughter's golden hair. _

"_You are very angry with me, aren't you?" she insisted, but she had a provocative smile threatening to lift the corners of her lips._

"_I am very angry with myself," Celeborn said in a serene tone now. "In the future I never want to be involved so greatly with banalities, as to not realize that the right path to take is not always the most logical." _

"_Ada..." Celebrian's smile died and she instinctively moved closer, leaning her head on the Elf-lord's knee. "We were hasty." _

"_No, ield-nîn. You were right all the time. You were against every step we took, but we simply ignored your opinion. How can I blame you for doing what you did?"_

"_Yes. Perhaps Imladris was in the wrong hands. Perhaps the Lady of Imladris had been more capable than was its master," Elrond said, and did not feel intimidated when his wife clicked her tongue, unhappy, and then gave him a stern look. There was too much truth in his father-in-law's words for him to deny any of them. He just bowed his head before the scene and finally exchanged a serene glance with his oldest son sitting next to him and was pleased to see Elladan smiling at his father's comment. _

"_Rivendell has good leaders." Círdan, who had watched the entire scene in silence, keeping his own feelings to himself, finally took a place in the family conversation. "Tell me you will again lead those lost ones, Elrond. It's more than clear to me that they need your guidance. You still have to do more for them than vaguely diverting the course of a river to hide them in the valley."_

_Elrond lowered his eyes again, thinking, feeling everyone's attention on him. This would not be a difficult decision in other circumstances, but in this situation, it was still too complicated. _

"_I think I have made choices enough lately ... I think this one is not for me in particular," he said, and his eyes softly rested on his son, still in the arms of his grandfather. Elrohir frowned. "Tell me what you want, ion-nîn. I have a proposal to live in an Edain village beyond the Ered Luin, the rocky mountain west of Eriador, and now we can also return to the city of the valley. What to do? Which would feel better to you, my child?"_

_Elrohir grew pale, even without understanding exactly what his father really wanted from him. He seemed so chilled that his grandfather embraced him again with both arms, bringing him closer against his chest._

"_Your father is right, Astalder," he said into the boy's ear. Elrohir closed his eyes at once, not knowing which direction the conversation would go, but not feeling it would be in a good one. He shook his head, and his grandfather held him a little tighter. "My elfling, you made a mistake, it is true, but what happened after that turned your father's land into a city that you wished to leave behind. But would you feel better there, Astalder? It is your right to choose to go anywhere, not necessarily Imladris, now that you are all free from the punishment imposed on you."_

_Elrohir only shook his head again. This time Elrond rose and went to kneel beside his wife, before their youngest son. Seeing his father approach so quickly made Elrohir immediately close his eyes, knowing what would be expected of him. But Elrond touched one of his legs with affection._

"_Tell me where you want to be, ion-nîn. No one will question your decision."_

_Even with that soothing tone, Elrohir took a few moments longer to re-open his eyes. Before him his father was waiting for his decision. His father who had given up his own position, his honored name for him. His father who had traveled a hostile land alone to save him. His father who had faced all kinds of dangers so that he could be safe. _

_For him... His father had done everything for him. Now he had given him a decision of great magnitude, laying it in his hands..._

"_Where do you want to be, ion-nîn?" Elrond asked again, slowly stroking the boy's leg. On his face was the same reassuring smile he always used to make his children feel protected._

_Elrohir felt his chest tighten until it seemed to have only pain in it. There was only one answer to that question that occurred to him, and he hastened to offer it as he could. He raised his left hand and placed it over his father's heart, while more tears started to roll from his eyes._

_Elrond's hand covered his son's with a patient smile. _

"_Here you will always be, my beloved child." He understood the meaning of Elrohir's answer faster than his own son had imagined. "Nothing will ever take you away from here, not even if my heart is torn from my chest."_

_Elrohir pressed his eyes shut then, feeling a whirlwind of emotions again, an unstoppable whirlwind that nearly drove him insane. Everything had changed so drastically! It was too overwhelming! He... he did not want anything to change anymore... Yes... He knew what he wanted. He knew what he wanted, so he barely realized he had gotten up, abandoning his grandfather's arms and throwing himself on his knees to hug his father. _

_Elrond received him into his arms without hesitation, although he did not understand his son's attitude, since he was finding it difficult these days to understand the confused and fragile child's heart at all. So he stayed on the ground, with his son in his arms, stroking his hair, rocking him slowly and trying to deal with the tears that had returned to shake the child's body, now more intensely than before. _

_Celebrian also ran her fingers down the child's wet face, offering him the reassuring words that occurred to her. Soon Elladan also approached quietly and crouched close to his brother, placing a hand on his twin's leg just so that he'd know he was there for whatever he might need._

_For Círdan the scene seemed to be too much. He'd never even had a war game be so difficult to interpret and solve as this. This was a game with no enemies, no clear opponents, no great armies, but even so, a game with so many victims. He stood on impulse and moved away a few steps, then stopped where he was, rubbing his hand over his beard. He turned to the family once more, the family which did not seem like any other he had ever encountered in his lifetime. Despite all his experience, his mind was seething now in a cyclone of information and conclusions that were hard to classify. It had been too long since the last time he had felt this way._

"_The Grey Haven is open to you," he announced in his solemn tone and, he soon realized that the child had stopped crying and was merely sitting quietly, his face resting on his father's chest with his eyes closed. _

_Elrond looked at his old friend with respect, but Círdan lamented what he saw in his face. The pain of the difficult journey had barely healed and this news, that he'd hoped would bring a positive reaction, was becoming a source of anguish to the already exhausted healer._

"_It would be a great honor to have you in Mithlond, Elrond," he said, reinforcing his invitation. "Surely my people would be reminded of lessons long forgotten." _

_Elrond knew those words and the supportive intentions that lay behind them. He then took a deep breath, trying to take advantage of the positive suggestion as best he could. He looked at his son in his arms, whose head was still resting on his chest. Beside him, his wife and eldest son also had eyes only for the sadness of the young elf, which seemed to have no end, however the boy might try to hide it or disguise it._

_What to do? What to do? Elrond asked himself now, looking again toward his grey-haired friend. Certain decisions were as tough as sending an army of innocents forward to a battle whose chances of victory were not as great as you would like. _

_And how many times had he done that? In how many battles had he participated? How many losses had he had? How many were still waiting for him? _

_Elrond sighed, resigned, then put his hand against his son's face, in another sign of protection. _

"_The honor is ours, mellon-nin. Mithlond is a very beautiful place, full of good prospects," he said, with what he judged would be words that Círdan might expect from him, however much they hurt him to say. Leaving his land behind once and for all might be what he had to do. _

_But no sooner he had finished his sentence, than Elrond felt his son grow uneasy in his arms, shaking his head in anguish. _

"_What is it, ion-nîn? What still bothers your heart, my child?" he asked before feeling the boy's left hand rest again over his father's heart. Elrond frowned without understanding. Elbereth, this vow of silence was cruel. He let himself be trapped in the bright, darkened orbs of his child, but he could not read them. He tightened his embrace around his son and placed his palm against Elrohir's face. A question was lodged in his throat, bothering him as if it had a life of its own, and Elrond decided to ask it, even though he feared his son's reaction. _

"_My child… Do you... want to go back to Imladris? Is that what you are trying to tell me? _

_The boy's eyes brightened, and then he nodded his head in a statement that would have stolen the floor beneath Elrond had he not already been sitting. Elrond felt his chin soften, but even with the surprise of the positive response, his heart was troubled. _

"_My dear child ... Please, you are not making this decision for me, are you? You know I've been in many places and..." he tried to explain, but Elrohir rushed to shake his head negatively. It was his following surprising gesture that almost stopped Elrond's heart, making the healer believes in a hope that he had long abandoned: Elrohir had placed his hand over his chest, over his own heart. _

_He wanted to return to Imladris. Elrohir wanted to return to their land. He wanted to go home._

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><p>Elrohir felt his body tremble again, and Elrond's arms strengthened around him. He sat sideways, his head resting on his father's chest, listening to the pleasant tone of the healer's heart, the smell of herbs that permeated his clothes, something that Elrohir had learned to appreciate, at least in this circumstance. Elrond's hand slid down the boy's hair, as if realizing his son had the need of his touch, and Elrohir finally sighed, relaxing again.<p>

"Sleep... Just sleep a little longer... my child."

Yes. Sleep, just sleep. What could be resolved already had been... Whatever would happen would come if it had to, or not come, which would be preferable. But he couldn't help hoping that nothing else would come his way, that nothing else would change or happen...

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for <span>chapter 23<span>. Your opinion are really really important to me. Thank you so much: **She Elf of Hidden Lore****, ****hine lots****, ****Gwedhiel0117****, ****Eliza61,****DreamingIn2Eternity,****world-classgeek****, ****Evereven****, ****Myriara****, ****Sivan Shemesh****, ****LalaithElerrina****, ****Oleanne,****Glory-Bee****, ****Lia Whyteleafe****.** And many, many thanks to **Puxinette**, my patient beta and friend.


	25. The Tough Correct Way

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p><strong>CHAPTER XXV - THE TOUGH CORRECT WAY<strong>

_"It is the past that came to me, like a cloud, it comes to be recognized, I just don't know how to decipher it."_

João Guimarães Rosa

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><p>When Elrohir had traveled this road on his prior journey, time and his physical condition had not allowed him to appreciate the subtle traces of the land that he crossed. Now that the Hill of Bree grew to the north, and the sun revealed the details once hidden by rainy nights on his first visit, the young elf took in each one of those things, unraveling puzzles, as someone who paints the final touches of a picture that an artist had abandoned long ago.<p>

He had recovered well so far, but his father's hands still held him firmly in front of him on the horse. He had no objection to that. After them being so long apart, feeding all sorts of pessimistic thoughts about the future of their relationship, what Elrohir wanted more than anything was for his father to never be far away from him again. He wanted to feel him at hand, and more than that, know that his father wanted the same.

They reached the South Gate in silence and passed through it with nothing but small glances from those they passed and distant thoughts of their own. The Great East Road continued for a few miles, following the course it had for many years. It hunched slightly to the left, and then retraced itself a bit further while meandering eastward. It skirted the edge of the hill, only then to start a new descent, almost imperceptibly, toward a region flourishing with trees.

After coming all this way, they finally left the high hill behind, and it left them in deepening shadow. Elrohir felt his head begin to get heavy again. The drugs he was still taking created the sensation that he needed a full night's sleep. That was starting to irritate him. His head fell forward once, twice and three times, until he felt his father's quiet laughter against his back.

"Why do you not sleep instead of fighting against the herbs, child?" Elrond said, and then placed his palm on the child's forehead to lean his son's head back onto his shoulder, so that he could see his face.

The boy had visibly regained weight and energy, and it was apparent that he was suffering from his first grumpy attitude in a long time. That sparked another laugh from Elrond, who was limited to kissing his son's forehead and covering the boy's eyes.

"Sleep. We'll be camping soon."

The twin found himself obeying: Did he really have any choice? The incessant sound of the horses' hooves plodding against the ground, and the climate always being colder than might be reasonable were enough to make him want to close his eyes. Add to that the sense of security of his father's arms, and the monotonous sway of their riding with its rhythmic rocking, and it was no wonder he could not keep his eyes open, even though he wished to.

When they came to a narrow path leading to the north, Celeborn looked up to the sky, and then he ran his eyes over the particulars of the empty road, to finally focus on a small wooded valley, also already darkened.

"It's a good time for making camp," he noted, lifting his chin in that direction. "In the morning we can take the path leading to the village from the north and then go through the empty lands for a few days."

"Archet and then Weathertop?" Elrond deduced as he stopped his horse alongside his father-in-law's.

"Why not continue down this road?" It was Celebrian who asked even before her father had a chance to answer. She seemed somewhat displeased.

"I think your father intends to pass through the Marshes," Elrond guessed, recognizing the way he'd traveled when he'd come before.

The lady-elf immediately clicked her tongue, very unhappy now. She actually had come to the same conclusion even before her husband had.

"I do not know. I'd rather follow the road to the south. The path is longer, but certainly much more enjoyable," she said in a dissatisfied tone. Something was bothering her greatly about the idea of passing through the marshes again, but she could not tell what it was. "We are on horseback, so we do not need to shorten the way, do we?"

"It's unnecessary to take the longer way. Time will be lost for an already very tired group," Celeborn said, watching his daughter fondly. "Do you not want to return to your homeland as soon as possible, _ield-nîn_?"

Celebrian pursed her lips, but she swallowed her displeasure in silence. She knew that look from her father. He would never change his mind. When he was part of a group, he would ask the others' opinions out of pure diplomacy, but almost always everyone ended up doing things his way. It would be no different this time. No sooner had he apologized for not having listened to her, and there he was again, ignoring her opinion about the path they would take. The lady-elf shook her head slightly, then she checked on her son behind her, who had leant his face against her back, his body slack, the embrace with which he clutched his mother's waist loosening noticeably.

"Do not sleep yet,_ El-nîn_," she said, hoping that the child was just relaxing a bit. Elladan had rarely slept during the trip. "Soon we will make camp, honey, alright?"

Elladan opened his eyes in time to see his grandfather's white horse taking the course toward a stand of trees, followed by some of his elves. The twin just nodded, tightening his arms around his mother's waist, to assure her that he understood the message.

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><p>The next day the sun shone and, although it was winter, the forest was filled with leaves of different colors, and a feeling of peace and gentleness seemed to reign. The group followed the paths which were known to them, where the only sound in the forest was birdsong. At the end of the last track, they started to head down a path toward the east, and they did not divert from it until they were finally outside the Chet Forest.<p>

The group had ridden for half the day, and Elrohir now clicked his tongue, visibly uneasy. It did not take Elrond long to realize what was bothering his youngest son, who continually rubbed at his eyes and face.

"You need sleep, child," he said, easily translating Elrohir's discomfort. Since they left the hostel, he had been keeping the youngest asleep on purpose. In fact the boy's injuries were still far from completely healed, but something about his son, besides the wounds that could be seen and evaluated, still worried Elrond. They were coming back by the same path that the boy had traveled, a path full of memories, whose value and meaning Elrond could not assess. So the healer decided, whenever he could, to try and avoid any bad memory or old feeling, which could put the child's slow recovery at risk.

But when awake, Elrohir had begun to wonder about the necessity of the constant recovery sleep his father had imposed on him. And he was the only one who seemed willing to question the healer's decisions. The others uttered no comment at all; quite the contrary, both his mother and his grandfather offered words of encouragement to the sleepy twin whenever he revealed himself as upset, as he was now. In some way, it was as if everyone shared the same fears, but didn't want to qualify them.

"Would you like to come and ride with your grandfather, _Astalder_?" Celeborn rode his horse alongside Elrond's, taking the initiative to be the peacemaker for the boy's spirits this time. "So your father can feel his arms again."

Elrond smiled at the joke, but Elrohir just pressed his lips together to show his frustration, which was a characteristic of him. He wasn't upset because he did not want to ride with his grandfather, but because he felt as if he was going to fall asleep again, and he hadn't stayed awake long enough this time to even determine where he was. The next time his father offered him any medicine, he was going to refuse to take it. Even the pain of his recently closed injuries was better than this eternal mystery of not knowing where he was at any given time.

Celeborn received his grandson with a smile, when the child raised his arms to accept his invitation. It was good to know that Elrohir no longer had any reservations about being with him. He sat the elfling in front of him on his horse, with the boy's ear resting against his chest, and he smiled as he felt Elrohir give another sigh of unhappiness before he fell asleep again.

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><p>After more time riding, the group was on a path that led continuously downward. It was steeper than the one they had taken as they left the Road, and now they entered a wide and flat region, where the crossing became increasingly difficult for the animals. It was a trackless, desert-like terrain, far away from the borders of Bree. A land that left the twins, in their inexperience, unable to get their bearings, and a region much closer to the Midgewater Marshes than the adults wanted to be.<p>

Little by little the ground was becoming more and more damp. There were puddles formed in alternate locations, and the elves started to come across large stretches of reeds that hindered the passage of the horses.

"I do not remember this place being so difficult to cross," Celebrian remarked, remembering that _Roquen_ had left the swamp with almost the same speed with which he had left the other paths.

Elrond sighed weakly. Mystery. That was the proper name for some of these passages, and the sunset added an even more uncertain sensation to them.

The swamp was too morbid even for Celeborn, who had seen every kind of creation that the _Valar's_ songs converted into solid images. Even the orange sunset, which had accompanied them so far, was engulfed by the thick fog, and the sound of the animals' difficult sloshing was muted, as they made their way through the shallow and muddy water.

Elrohir continued to sleep in his grandfather's arms. He had closed his eyes when they left the Forest Chet and had not seemed inclined to open them since then.

"What a horrible place," Celebrian complained again, speaking mostly to herself. She pulled her hood a little closer to ward off the insects that inhabited the evening.

Celeborn also pulled Elrohir's hood forward a little, so that the insects would not wake him up.

"It's the closest translation for the word inhospitable I've had the opportunity to see," the elf lord said, as he, too, protected himself.

"Well, I would give up this opportunity without hesitation." Celebrian's voice sounded mirthful, and the other elves laughed, despite the uncomfortable situation in which they found themselves.

At first the good humor sped up the company, but then as they continued, the crossing became slower. The swamp seemed more deceptive and treacherous than it had before, maybe because the rain had stopped, changing the ground, which now looked like a land rife with traps. It was as if the ponds were something more than they actually were.

"If we do not go faster we will be forced to camp in this region," Elrond warned, staring intently at the way they traveled.

'For the sweet _Yavanna_. Anything but that." Celebrian pulled her hood forward a bit more, feeling Elladan press his face into her back to protect himself as well. "There were not so many of these creatures when I passed through here before," she said, waving her hand uselessly, trying to dispel a real cloud of mosquitoes that surrounded her horse.

"It was certainly raining the first time through here," Elrond said.

"As you can see, _meleth-nîn_, there are worse things than rain," she said with a smile. Her husband smiled back, shaking his head at her baiting.

Unfortunately the crossing took longer than expected, and the light faded. Soon the sounds of nocturnal beings could be heard as they settled in the reeds and brush for the night.

"We'll have to camp here." Elrond dropped his shoulders, as if hating the idea since the swamp was so nasty, and he heard no response from the others. Celeborn started looking around, also resigned, seeking a place where at least it was solid enough to spend the night and they would be able to make a fire. Some of the others spread out a bit, doing the same.

"Here, my lord," one of them said from a distance, bringing the attention of all to a small hill in the middle of the muddy waters of the swamp. Celeborn exchanged a resigned look with his son-in-law before encouraging his horse to go in that direction.

Elrond waited for his wife's horse to go first, then followed her, looking attentively at their trail. The lack of rain had indeed greatly changed the ground since his last passage, yet something seemed familiar about this place in particular. He paused for a moment, turning _Durion_ in a short arc in the same place before hearing the voice of his wife calling him.

"Elrond? What is the problem, _meleth-nîn_?"

"Nothing, Star," he replied absently, while his eyes roamed small piles of sand and mud that appeared here and there in the dark water. He searched his thoughts for the memory to connect to this place, but he could not seem to grasp it.

This remembrance did not take long to return, though later, the healer regretted having looked for it at all…

Partially submerged in a nearby pond, a body largely deteriorated lay in a dark pool. Elrond recognized the corpse he had seen on his first trip through here, when his hurried and afflictive search for his son stopped him from giving it a proper burial. Thoughtful, he asked his horse to move closer, but soon a sound startled him.

"Elrohir!" It was Celeborn's voice. Elrond turned in time to see his son jumping from his grandfather's horse and falling into the dark water, only to rise again and move away from the group.

"Elrohir!" he called after his son, raising a hand to calm his child, whose startled eyes stared at his surroundings, as one who awakes in an unfamiliar place. The twin did not respond to calls, neither from his father nor his grandfather. Quite the contrary, he hurried away from them, with his eyes scouring the landscape around them. Celebrian started to get off her horse, but was restrained by a warning movement from her husband, who was already on the ground. She then remained where she was, also preventing her eldest son from dismounting.

The night was fully dark now, and it was soothed only by the torches that the soldiers carried. But it was not the dark, nor the strange place that seemed to frighten the young elf. Elrohir acted as if he were walking in a nightmare. And indeed he was. He had opened his eyes in time, like his father, to recognize the place through which he had passed before. However, also like his father, he had a memory attached to those muddy waters, a hard reminder, which his unconscious had hidden from him until now, seemingly just waiting for the right moment to draw him into it again.

"It's all right, child."

Elrond tried to approach, while his son walked in confused angles, trying to avoid being caught. The dark water almost reached his knees. Celeborn was also on the ground, calling his grandson's name with the same patience as the others.

"This cold water will not bring any benefit to your injuries, _Astalder_," he said in a calm tone, stopping after two failed attempts to get closer. He did not want to draw near his grandson so forcibly. He made a slight nod to the other elves that had come with him, and they all understood well, taking protective positions around them.

Elrohir's eyes no longer followed the movements of those around him; they remained fixed on the image of the dark waters, as if the scene had come back to reveal a secret to him. He unknowingly sought for an answer, an answer that seemed very important.

Elrond, who also had given up trying to contain his son, followed the boy's movements closely, trying to unravel the mystery of his son's flight. The fears and concerns which had occurred on his first visit to the region, however, insisted on offering him indigestible suggestions as answers to what the child was now relentlessly pursuing. The elf lord finally gave in to one of them, hoping that he was right, and at least one impasse could be resolved...

"Here, my boy," he said, slowly pulling the dagger he had in his belt, his own weapon that he'd found in the swamp on his first trip through. "Is this what you are looking for? Here it is. I found it when I came through this place on my way to find you. You don't need to worry about it anymore."

Elrohir immediately focused a pair of bright eager eyes on the weapon, but instead of the image bringing him the relief his father hoped it would, the young elf's face grew paler and paler. Finally his rounded eyes seemed to discover the information he had lost, but had been eagerly looking for. He continued to stare at his father, but his face drew again into an almost unbearable expression of agony.

"It's alright now, child... Whatever the memory that you have in your mind, let it stay behind. Do not think about it anymore," Elrond said, trying not to speculate on the parts of the past that he didn't know, but that now seemed to be proving a hindrance to his son that was rather 's eyes shifted from place to place, trying to find what it was that bothered him. He shook his head hard. There was something else. He knew it. And it seemed more terrible than just having left his father's dagger in the swamp. Elrond's worry deepened.

It didn't take long, unfortunately, for Elrohir's attention to be drawn to an image that certainly his subconscious mind had retained, and he found the same sad scene his father had also distinguished in the darkness. At that moment the boy's brightness disappeared, so that Elrond began to fear that the story his son could tell would be even worse than he had ever imagined.

"No, my child..." He raised his hand to try to prevent Elrohir from approaching the morbid place. "This man is gone... There is only a body that needs burial. Do not go there."

But Elrohir was in another world. Even so he took a few steps forward. However he didn't forge ahead. It was not his father's request that stopped him; his legs simply would not allow him to move. The image was too sharp, the decapitated body lying face down, his head missing. _Elbereth_, the man was right there...

And then e remembered something... He thought it had been a dream… But now he feared that it wasn't. Why was this man here? Who did this to him?

"Elrohir..." He heard his father call him again and realized that the voice was closer. Then Elrond's hand was on his shoulder, while his father's other hand subtly encircled his arm, right over the bandaged wound that was there. That act in itself, the slight pain on contact, was enough to bring back some of Elrohir's memories.

The stranger was an _adan_, an _adan_ with sunburned skin and a grimy brown beard... Several of his teeth were missing, and others had a strange gleam... He was an _adan_ and he'd threatened him...

"_You disgraceful little boy! Why don't you give up at once? I just want the weapon; do not make me leave your body here for your father to find, floating in this disgusting swamp."_

He'd wanted the sword ... But Elrohir could not let him take it... He could not...

His father's hand was now holding his arm right over the injury he had won. He'd not been fast enough. He'd allowed himself to be hit by the man's blade... It still hurt... It still hurt almost like it had that day...

"_It hurts, doesn't it? Imagine how it will feel when I stab you right in your heart? Do you think that will hurt too? Do you think you'll die immediately?" _

His enemy had been an _adan_ and he'd tried to attack him. He'd said… things... He'd said horrible things...

"_I thought elves were not thieves. Maybe they are not and would die of shame if they knew one of their own steals."_

But he had reacted… He had done something... What had he done?

"_They would die of shame..."_

The sword ... He had held it ... He had wielded it firmly. He had… He had stained it with blood...

_Elbereth_... He… He...

But it was in his own defense... The _adan_... He'd wanted... He'd wanted to…

"_They would die of shame if they knew…"_

The sword...

He'd wanted ... that… that cursed sword...

"_They would die of shame if they knew that one of their own steals."_

Red Blood... streaming down the sword… slowly. The metal was darker than ever...

"_They would die of shame if they knew..."_

It was he... It was he... He had done it. _Ilúvatar_... He... He had taken someone's life... Not an orc's life... Not a werewolf's life... He'd claimed the life of an _adan_...

Killing an _adan_ was like killing an elf...

Glorfindel always told him... His father always told him... Everyone always told him...

No... Not again... How could he be so consistently wrong? He barely had obtained a pardon and... Only to discover that there were still more things he had done to condemn him... Horrible things for which he could not be forgiven... Things of which he did not know if he wanted to be forgiven...

Why? Why hadn't he taken that damn sword and done with it the same thing Túrin Turambar did? It would pass through his body without causing any suffering... without any problems ... and they would be free of him... They would all be free...

"_Ion-nîn_, _listen to me. Listen to me, my child_." He heard his father's voice now, sounding far away, but he was not just here, present before him. He was in his mind. Elrohir woke up with a snap, feeling that presence and found himself stuck in a pair of gray eyes that stared at him deeply as they had never done before.

_Ilúvatar_... His father had seen... His father had seen what he had done.

"_Elrohir."_ Elrond's voice sounded again inside his mind, this time farther away. "_Look at me, my boy. Look at me. Listen to my voice, child. Trust me. Everything will be alright."_

_Trust me..._ No... His father always said that... That phrase ... That guarantee. No. No. No... He knew what his father would do now... His father would protect him... Would protect him as he had done before... He would sacrifice himself... He would prevent them from punishing his stupid son again.

No. No. No...

He had to be punished. He wanted to be punished. He wanted to disappear. Disappear!

Elrohir began to shake his head then, and his breathing sped up, becoming the only sound that came from his throat, although many other sounds, sounds of despair and anguish, were all in line there, and he was not sure he would be able to contain them. He started trying to get free of the arms that held him, but Elrond would not let him go, calling his name, trying to calm him down. Soon Celeborn joined them. He held his grandson from the back, embracing him with both arms to try to restrain him without aggravating his injuries. Elrond, once his hands were free, took Elrohir's face between his palms, trying to force him to look at him, trying to regain the lost contact, make him come back to himself.

"Elrohir_. Ion-nîn_. Look at me. Listen to me, child," he said in a low and angst-ridden tone, his voice partially caught in his throat.

Elrond was lost in this revelation. The scene he'd come upon on his first journey through here... Now, when he thought about it—_Ilúvatar,_ what had his son experienced when he'd passed this way the first time? This could not have happened... No. It could not. It could not have happened to someone so young... _Elbereth_, why hadn't he come in time? Why could it not have been him to teach a lesson to that opportunist a lesson he would never forget?

Elrond called to his son a few more times, but the despair that the memory revived, the weight of a new fault that he thought he had on his shoulders, was robbing the wisdom from the boy, throwing him into a pit so deep and despairing that it was difficult for even Celeborn to hold him without aggravating his injuries. Elrond pressed his lips together, also preoccupied by the horror that his son must have endured. Finally he made a hard decision: he covered Elrohir's eyes with his right hand and said a few barely audible words. The boy's body fell unconscious in his grandfather's arms.

"_Ilúvatar_." Celeborn hastened to raise his grandson in his arms, pulling him out of the cold, dark water. "What sad sequence of misfortunes did he have, Elrond?" he asked, subtly cradling the boy.

The dark elf dropped his head forward as if it weighed too much and breathed out so deeply that it seemed he was using all his strength to do it.

"All I ask is that my mistakes never leave anyone in a situation like this again..." he said. His choked voice was almost a whisper. "And that there are no lingering scars from those so deep wounds."

Celeborn did not respond, but the two lord-elves looked at each other and all they could see was their anguish reflected in one another's faces. Celebrian rode up on her horse then and held her arms out. Her father attended her implicit request, coming closer and lifting Elrohir, so that she could hold her son.

When Elrohir's cold, wet body was in his mother's arms; Celebrian did not care about where she was, she just hugged him tightly and choked back a cry, uttering the sweet words that she sought to tell the child in her arms.

"It is all right, my little warrior," she said, trying to give assurances to him, whispering in the boy's ear, as a thin trail of tears streamed down her pale cheeks. She covered her unconscious son's face with kisses. "It'll be alright, my brave little boy, my dear little boy..."

Elladan intensified his grip on his mother's waist when he heard her weeping. Celebrian dropped one hand to hold her firstborn's, while Elrond approached in silence, still on foot, and led his wife's horse carrying his family to the place they had chosen for camping, at least for a few hours.

From all that sadness, there was only silence and the distinctive smell of the marsh; the smell of misfortune on the breeze, added to now by the dark odor of the decomposing corpse, whose personal history few of them wanted to know.

Even so, they gave his body a proper burial. And Elrond uttered some words to the Valar, asking for peace for this person he didn't know and wishing him forgiveness if he needed it. Finally, amid the bitterness of that difficult day, which was ending in an even more trying way, the soldiers were given their guard schedules. Some of them made a fire to provide enough to eat, although those in the family they guided and protected were unwilling to have a meal.

The camp was nearly useless, but for safety the elves stayed anyway. None of them found any rest, except the twins. Their father provided them a place to sleep, as sheltered and protected as he could from nocturnal beings. Elrohir and Elladan slept side by side beneath a makeshift shelter of cloaks and branches. The others sat around the campfire, which did not spare them from spending almost the entire night waving their hands uselessly to ward off the unwanted and unpleasant insects of the swamp.

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><p>The full sun of a new day found the elves riding again, and the younger twin gradually awakened. As he sat back in his father's arms, he realized where he was, and that was enough to make him not want to open his eyes. But soon the hand of the healer was on his face, stroking it softly. There was no way to deceive him; this Elrohir had always known.<p>

There were two more sunsets before the group came to see a change in the scenery. Behind them Weathertop seemed to disappear and, in front, the mountains, once distant, grew in height and color. Finally a known sound began to bring a sense of peace long overdue.

"The _Mithieithel_," Elrond said to himself, closing his eyes at the sound of the Grey River, as some called it. Its volume was magnified in this region before flowing into the sea, so there was no way to cross it below its headwaters in the Ettenmoors, either on foot or on horseback. "We have to get back to the road," he said then, already thinking about the direction that would lead them to the Last Bridge.

Elladan raised his index finger toward the horizon, where another stream of water could be seen, also wild and violent; and also known to them.

"Yes, _ion-nîn_. That is our _Bruinen_. We are not so far from home as our tired hearts want to make us believe."

They followed the road under the shadow of the hills for a few more miles to be rewarded by the sound of swirling waters of the _Mithieithel_, whipping the great arches of the Last Bridge, at the end of a short, steep hill. Beyond it already could be seen the narrow canyon to the north, away from the road, which would continue following the edge of the hills for many miles to the Ford of _Bruinen_.

But that was not the path that the group would follow. This became clear to young Elladan, who frowned, confused, as he watched the road leading to the river disappear behind them.

"Let's go on a new path." It was Celeborn who explained this time, seeing the confused look of his grandson as they continued toward the hills ahead.

Soon they were in a narrow and silent valley, where twisted trees and hillsides made up the landscape. The ground from there became a little more gritty, hindering the horses' walking, but soon they found a passage through the hills that they knew, and they fell onto the familiar track. When the end of another day came, the wind blew cold, moving the treetops, but this time the group didn't stop or rest, choosing to continue their way until the dawn of a new day, one that revealed itself to be very clear, with a brilliant blue sky. It was late afternoon, when the way they were following finally went back to open space, and at the base of a small hill a picture finally emerged distinct, enlightening and comforting: a green flat surface, beyond which was the Ford of Rivendell.

Just then Elrohir awakened in his father's arms, in time to see the water coming down the river in its violent course. The strong sound caused memories to flood back quickly. Elbereth, he loved this river from the deep of his heart, but now the idea of coming home with another guilty act on his shoulders was driving him insane. The twin felt his eyes sting and he shivered, this time for a completely different reason. Behind him, Elrond embraced him with both arms, resting his chin on his shoulder.

"Soon we will be at home, _ion-nîn,_" he softly said. "Go back to sleep…"

Elrohir took a deep breath; the latent memory that had been uncovered had unfortunately sown terrible fruit in its numerous nightmares. Now awake, he would not even think about the possibility of going back to sleep, but neither did he feel prepared to face reality again.

_Elbereth_, he had killed an _adan_ in the swamp... He was responsible for that. What would happen now? What would happen in Rivendell? How could he redeem himself this time? He couldn't run away again. He couldn't go anywhere this time. How could he compensate for what he had done?

"Shh, do not think about it." He heard his father's voice again, deducing his thoughts and pain, as the healer had always been able to, his lips almost in his ear, his fingers wiping the tears from his son's face.

His father's voice. How he loved to hear his father's voice, that tone that belonged only to him, like the breeze in green leaves of spring. The last thing he remembered hearing was his voice, when the image of the past had come to show him the seriousness of what he had done.

He should have run away. He should have escaped... But he could not. What happened after that? He did not remember; he did not even know if he actually wanted to remember.

Elrohir opened his eyes, looking again to the landscape which was welcoming them. He had made a decision; he'd wanted to come back, but now... Now he wasn't sure anymore.

It was then that he felt his father's head lean against his and the healer did something that only he could do. His voice sounded inside his son's mind.

"_Tell me, my child. Isn't it the right of a member of any race to defend and protect himself?_"

Elrohir's eyes rounded with the question and the strange dialogue his father was trying to have with him. He never admitted being able to talk to anyone using telepathy, even sharing it with his brother almost every single day of his life. He thought about ignoring what he was hearing; he didn't want to talk about this, even in the silence and secret of his own mind. But then he felt his father's hand over his heart, sending him healing energy, trying to make him feel better. Only then he realized there were tears falling from his eyes again.

Here he was, crying again, making his family suffer again, he thought, pressing his eyes shut. _Ilúvatar_, he did not want to cry; he wanted to be a brave warrior. He wanted to make his father proud, but everything he did had the opposite effect.

It was then that he felt his father's face move closer to his again and this time Elrond gave up any deceptions, asking an important question directly in his child's ear.

"Do you know how many Edain lives your father has taken?"

The question surprised Elrohir, who paled even before thinking that this was a question, and there was an answer for it. But Elrond remained calm. Elrohir could feel his father's breath on his cheek as Elrond gently stroked his chest. At one moment he left his palm over his son's heart. "Many, _ion-nîn_," he said in the same tone. "And he felt no pleasure with these deaths, nor did he invite them. He used the only option that remained to him, and I hope the weight in your heart will soften with the knowledge that in none of these instances was he the first to raise his weapon or did he do so solely for the purpose of taking someone's life."

Elrohir blinked a few times, thinking of his father in a way that he never had before, and wondered why he was telling this story in the third person as he was doing. That's when he concluded that it might be such a sad experience that even his father, whose knowledge of life and death exceeded that of many, hadn't the strength to associate it with his own name, to use the word "I".

"_I did it... I did it_..."

Elrohir tried to say it mentally, but the word "it" appeared to be irreplaceable, and he realized the terrible force that the terms "kill", "murder" and "take or steal life" associated with that first personal pronoun.

"This feeling you have. It is called the _warrior's heart pain_, child," Elrond said in a patient tone, but his tone was also as sad as the landscape where that horrible deed had occurred. "Do you have less love for your father now that you know this truth that I told you, child?"

Elrohir shook his head urgently, surprised by the question. He then raised his eyes for the first time and dared to look at him.

"Do you think your father carries a curse on his back or should be despised for what he did, _ion-nîn_?" Elrond insisted, gently wiping the child's face. His lips sketched a small but sad smile, when Elrohir shook his head shyly this time.

And no other question did the father ask his son in the moments that followed. While the minds of both were united in a shared experience, they each kept their silence, dwelling on the similar images in their own lives that the subject had awakened in them. Elrohir finally looked down, but then moved his arm back toward his father and hugged him. Elrond also strengthened the embrace he already offered and then kissed the boy's face with affection.

"Let's go home, _ion-nîn. _Let's go home, my child.

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><p>Again, thanks a lot to all reviewers for <strong>chapter 24<strong>. Your opinion made my day. You know that. Thank you so much: **alexiana75****. ****Gwedhiel0117****, ****DreamingIn2Eternity, melissamed,****world-classgeek****, ****Evereven****, ****Myriara****, ****Sivan Shemesh****, ****LalaithElerrina****, ****Oleanne,****Glory-Bee****, ****Lia Whyteleafe****, guest** (who are you, please?) And many, many thanks to **Puxinette**, my patient beta and dear friend.


	26. The Last Thorns - Part 1

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XXVI - THE LAST THORNS – Part I<strong>_

_But the silence is not golden: it is crystal;_

_crystal dome, this imposed silence._

David Mourao-Ferreira, in "Summer Storm"

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><p>Rivendell in the west of the Mountains; it was what some had called this place since its founding in the year 1697 of the Second Age, and had been one of the many stops on the journeys of a wandering elf lord in times of tough battles that had seemed to have no end.<p>

Elrond gazed toward his destination with a heart full of different emotions. He remembered having been forced to abandon many different places which stirred his spirit for many reasons, all very urgent, all very serious, involving the fate of everyone connected with him. However, when he found refuge and protection for his friends in this valley, he never imagined that fate would lead him to consider abandoning it for any reason, especially the one which had ultimately made him leave the land without thought of ever returning.

He lowered his eyes to his right hand, which gently rested on the mane of his dark horse, and his concentration brought to life another image of the past: The Sapphire of Vilya, the ring of air. Its bluish glow seemed to brighten, as if to remind him that there would be other battles, perhaps as serious as the one that forced his people to take refuge in the valley long ago. Bigger battles, perhaps the most important battles yet; battles in which maybe all individual problems could be solved.

Elrond took a deep breath, holding his son's hand against his side. Elrohir had asked to sit behind his father, once he noticed that they were very near Imladris. The reason had not been clear, but Elrond suspected that perhaps it was because the child did not want to show his state of weakness, coming back to his land in his father's arms, as he had been for nearly the entire trip.

Elrohir returned the grip, his face leaning upon the healer's back with his eyes closed. He had been longing to return, but now he recognized the only trail marked with the familiar white stones, those that showed the way to his home, which now, over time, had been enveloped with moss and heather. That was the way to Rivendell, and he began to feel an uncontrollable fear of returning there.

The feeling was not better when the sound of the rushing water met his ears, seeming like a warning that there was little time to maybe change his mind, to perhaps give up that dream. He shuddered at the sound of those powerful waters and Elrond strengthened his grip on the hand that he had not stopped holding in his own.

"Are you sure you do not want to ride in front of me, _ion-nîn_?" Elrond asked again, worried. But in response Elrohir only leaned his face harder against his father's back, closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly in a negative the healer could feel. Elrond sighed resignedly, but glanced questioningly at his wife, who was riding at his side, and who could now see the situation better than he. Celebrian just nodded, implying that the child seemed well.

"Our land smells good, isn't that true, _ionath-nîn_?" she said in her sweet voice, and that simple observation seemed to release the fragrance of trees and creeping flowers, which were spreading their aroma in the air. Elrohir opened his eyes in time to see the light of the setting sun on the slope of the valley on the other side of the river.

He sat up a little straighter, because in addition to that, he saw something more.

A group of elves waited for them there, before the steep downward path that would take them to the city in the valley. Probably the sentries had warned them about the arrival of the leaders and someone sent an escort to give any assistance on their final path.

Yes. Maybe someone had sent an escort, was the twin's thought, before recognizing the elf who waited solemnly at the front of the group.

No. Someone had _brought_ the escort.

Elrond also recognized his blond friend quickly, even with the heavy hooded cloak that hid his face in unknown shadows. Glorfindel, however, did not seem to actually want to hide himself, so as soon as he saw the group, he threw back his hood, and his golden hair, bright as the sunset of the evening, heralded the light of the journey's end.

There was, however, dead seriousness on his friend's face, and Elrond knew very well what had awakened it, so he moved ahead a bit and allowed his hood to fall away from his face, so that he could be seen by the group that awaited him.

His gaze was so focused on his friend, he barely noticed one of the other members on a horse beside the blond elf's. Only when he got closer, the voice of Gaellon emerged, making the healer become aware of his presence.

"_Mae Govannen, _Elrond," he said, without any excessive formality, as was his habit. Gaellon was one of the elves from Gil-galad's army who remained in Imladris, but whose heart never lost the yearning for great battles. He was the only one on the council to oppose Elrohir's condemnation, but as he was the more reckless and less prudent of all the members of the group, his opinion did not carry much merit.

Elrond moved his eyes to the dark-haired elf slowly. Although he was pleased to see him, he knew what it meant: that the Council had given him this role, choosing him precisely, and Elrond regrettably realized he would not have an opportunity to talk to Glorfindel before reaching the city. There was so much to say to his blond friend, so many justifications to make to him, so many apologies to give, and the postponement of this matter, which he considered the most vital, was bothering him to the extreme.

"Gaellon," he returned the greeting, placing his hand over his heart. "I'm glad to see you are waiting for us. May I assume the news is true, or am I mistaken?"

"You presume correctly, _mellon-nîn_. It's the least we can do, to ensure that you and your family make a safe return, even if only in these few final steps. Actually we were not informed of your return; otherwise we would have met you sooner, before you'd come all this way."

Elrond breathed out, then in again, just to have the sensation of doing something normal. _Elbereth_, they were all so stunned that they had forgotten the first rule of diplomacy, and had not sent word of their pending return. But in his heart he felt as if he was just coming back home, as he had done several times, and it hadn't occurred to him that this was a different situation.

"I apologize for the rudeness, Gaellon."

The other elf started to answer, but Glorfindel straightened his back, and after dropping a sarcastic laugh, said, "If I were in your place I would hold off with that word. You will hear so many apologies when you come into your land that you will certainly want to spend some time without hearing it at all," he said, and a strong "_indeed"_ coming from Gaellon reinforced the blond warrior's observation.

Both, Glorfindel's strict formality and his cold tone, as well as the information itself, made Elrond frown, confirming his fears that his friend was possibly very hurt. He kept his eyes on the blond warrior after the other's comment, but the elf did not return his gaze, merely keeping his feelings hidden in a distant, impassive face.

"You know that the council does not owe us an apology," Elrond said, continuing to object. His advisers were all good elves, whose behavior had been flawless so far. They only followed the very rules they themselves established. "If what my father-in-law has told me is true, the counselors' decision was that the whole situation has been forgotten, and it has been agreed to characterize it as a string of unfortunate incidents."

Gaellon kept the smile of satisfaction on his face. He seemed very happy to have been the only one who had objected to the entire nonsensical situation, and with extreme pleasure he now savored every moment of the fall of those diplomats who were so afraid of their own shadows that they let common sense fail them.

However, the next comment came from Glorfindel, too.

"I think it would not be altogether unproductive to let the arrogant intellectuals of our land lower their heads slightly and admit their mistakes. It will do well for their spirits. If not, at least it'll do well for ours," he said, still without looking at the newcomers. There was so much conflict and stiffness in his whole being that Elrond could almost see it in the lines of the elf's face. He was just not sure if the targets of his anger were indeed those of which the blonde warrior wanted to make the group believe.

Surely they were not...

Glorfindel let his gaze slip toward his Imladris friend again, as if trying to read the silence that followed his comment, but soon his attention had moved purposely toward another place, as he carefully avoided Elrond's eyes.

Celebrian, however, had already laughed softly before Glorfindel's observation, and it made Elrond hold his impulse to object again. He looked at his wife and oldest son on the horse beside him for a moment longer, remembering that their tiring journey would not allow them to waste important moments in a conversation such as this.

"I think we should continue on," he said, and his remark sounded like an order for the group before them to move their horses and give way to the family. Elrond observed the silent shift, then nodded to his wife, who put her horse in motion, beside him.

Only then, as he passed each of the elves that accompanied the escort, did he realize the reason for their promptness in moving aside. There was an almost undisguised smile illuminating every face he saw. Actually all those elves seemed relieved to see their leader back. Elrond was moved by the glances he received, and sought to repay them with the same affection. He'd known some of these elves for many years; others were young ones, whom he himself had helped to see the stars for the first time. They murmured a '_Welcome, sir'_, or '_We missed you, Lord Elrond',_ as they realized their leader was looking at them, and their faces glowed even more when they received a smile back from the elf lord, accompanied by words of thanks.

Only Glorfindel said nothing.

However, surreptitiously, the blond lord moved his head slightly, as he saw the horses of the Lord of Rivendell's family pass him. His goal was obvious and even expected by anyone who knew him well. He wanted to learn about the ones he had not yet seen. Elrohir did not even lift his face to look at his mentor, keeping it against his father's back. Elladan darted a worried glance at the master as soon as he passed him.

If Glorfindel wanted to hide behind an air of austerity and disappointment, to make clear to the family how resentful he was for what they had done without consulting him, he was fortunate in the way that things played out. None of the others saw him return his pupil's gaze, nor did they notice as his lips curved up in a small smile.

Elrohir didn't share his brother's courage at that moment, so he did not reopen his eyes again. He no longer wanted to be wrapped in unwanted thoughts or to dwell on scenes filled with tension. He did not want to know how his master would look at him; he did not want to know how he would be received in Rivendell. All he wanted to do was lean against his father's back, while their horse walked the steep trail, traveling ever downward, continuing to follow the path as it crossed back on itself, leading them into the secret valley of Rivendell. The heat and warmth emanating from the place, accompanied by the smell of the pines, began to steal his lucidity, and he again found himself in an unexpected struggle to stay awake.

Imladris was the land of healing. Many said that. Elrohir did not want to sleep, but still did not have control over his little recovered energy. Then he realized he was in his grandfather's arms again. Celeborn had watched him falter and had rescued him, before he could surprise his father by falling from their horse.

"Go back to sleep, _Astalder_," he heard his grandfather say, and he felt his father's voice reinforce this advice. "Do not worry. Your land will be waiting for you when you're fully recovered."

Elrohir thought to resist, but the last thing he saw was the worried look Glorfindel directed at him, when he'd tried to reopen his eyes. Then everything came down to a darkness again, but a more pleasant one this time; a dark flavor tempered by trees and green grass, the sound of the wind in the oaks and beeches, and the pleasant sensation of the twilight. However, beyond all these, the last thing that he was aware of before the heavy sleep invaded his mind was the very special sound of the rapid and slightly noisy river flowing through their land.

Elrond was surprised when their actual reception turned out exactly how Gaellon had promised it would. It seemed as if his arrival aroused more happiness than he could have imagined. Patiently he accepted the greetings of all, entreated flared tempers, appreciated the apologies, heard the songs.

Celeborn and Celebrian, however, took the first opportunity they could and slipped quietly with the twins into the house. The elf lord, realizing his son-in-law would not escape his diplomatic role so early, offered to help his daughter ensure that his grandchildren would be fed and gotten to bed. There was plenty of time for them to deal with the emotion that longing for their land had caused them, so that they need not endure the complete bedlam that had settled in the main courtyard. Now they needed to rest.

It took some time before Elrond could do the same, when he was finally past the crowd and had reached the door. Once inside, he saw two people with whom he needed to talk before his spirit could have any rest. Still standing on the grand staircase entrance, he made a subtle signal to Erestor, who had stayed silent in a corner of the courtyard, receiving only a brief greeting, but also seeming unwilling to wait for Elrond's explanation. Elrond started to fear that his friend would simply pretend not to have understood his gesture. But he would not be Erestor if he did that; that's why the healer felt the apprehension in his chest reduce at least a little when he saw the counselor take Glorfindel's arm with his right hand and bring the killer of the Balrog with him, even enduring the ancient elf's visible objection.

They were at least willing to talk. That was something, Elrond thought. He could feel his fatigue almost overwhelming him, as he watched his friends walking toward him.

When they were finally able to be alone in the office of the Lord of Rivendell, Elrond stepped forward and stopped for a moment at the window. When he heard the door close, he realized that his opportunity had arrived to face his friends and clarify the details of the story that before now had been ignored.

Why was this so difficult, he wondered, as he held onto the casement beside the door of his office. For the first time, the image of the garden did not bring him the peace he needed, and he suddenly felt discouraged as he turned and looked at the two elves, who stood waiting just inside the door.

Now that he was protected again by the graces of his city, the healer began to feel the weight of his body, the weight of the trip, the weight of the dangers, the weight of loss. So when he finally turned to the two elves, seeking something diplomatic to say, trying to find the right words that would bring his friends, visibly disappointed and hurt by him, to his side again, the words escaped him and their images swam before his eyes. When he realized this, he found himself only babbling an, '_Excuse me, please, Mellyn-nin_,' as he covered his face with both hands.

_Elbereth_, it was so hard to believe that he had to pass through this last hurdle and was virtually powerless to do so. And the search, almost desperate for the lost strength, for the right words, the right attitudes, seemed to cloud his mind. That urgency stole the wisdom he knew he needed to have to convince his friends to forgive him, and instilled a state of agony in his heart that he had not expected to feel so soon.

What occurred after that, fortunately, was not what the healer had feared would happen, and it showed him with certainty that some ills heal much faster than others. Soon there were hands holding him and the voices of the two elves did not sound as severe as he had expected them to.

"Sit here, Elrond." Erestor helped him to the couch.

"Drink this." Glorfindel put a glass of wine in his hand.

"You are tired. That's all. You have barely been home and have had to face this whole mess," Erestor assured, his hand on Elrond's shoulder.

"You should have sent those fools and their apologies away. You're too nice to those worthless advisers," Glorfindel said, and Elrond felt the warrior's hand on his knee.

Elrond kept his eyes closed for a few moments longer, letting himself feel his friends' presence. He was really a lucky elf, he thought. He could hardly believe his good fortune. When he finally raised his eyelids, he found Erestor sitting beside him, the counselor's hand still placed protectively on his shoulder. Crouching in front of him, Glorfindel looked at him with concern, holding onto one of his knees.

He looked at them alternately, searching for traces of sadness or sorrow in their faces, but now finding only concern.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, _mellyn-nîn_. It all happened very quickly. I did not know if involving you would have been wise..."

The elves had similar reactions, which was unusual for those two, who disagreed with each other on nine out of ten subjects they ever discussed. Both tightened their lips, looking genuinely troubled not only by Elrond's tone, but also the healer's general condition. In fact they knew very little of what he had been through.

Given their silence then, Elrond became worried again, and he clenched his jaws closed. He could already feel his breathing quicken, even before he addressed the impasse at which he found himself with his two friends. He knew he would not have peace until they had this discussion.

"Drink your wine," Glorfindel simply said, rising and moving away. Elrond followed his movement, uneasy again, but he satisfied himself by realizing that the blond elf had risen to simply reach out and drag a chair noisily toward them, so that he could sit in front of the healer now. Once settled, Glorfindel took a deep breath, resting his hands on his legs and turning to look at his friend. "How is he? What about the journey? Did he really do all the things Círdan said in his letter?"

Elrond fell silent before the unexpected questioning, but then realized what Glorfindel sought to hide, along with all its meanings. The twins had always been his best disciples, but Elrohir was the "apple of his master's eye". So when Elrond continued staring at him without saying anything, a furtive smile escaped from the blonde warrior's lips, as one who is tired of wearing a mask and decides to take it off instead.

"Come on, Elrond. Tell us just what that troublesome little creature of yours was able to do before I explode from curiosity," he then said and gave an informal laugh that everyone knew, and that seemed to be better than any medicine or night's sleep for the Lord of Imladris.

Elrond smiled, but didn't tell his two friends too much about Elrohir's feats. He himself still didn't know all the details of his son's adventure. He wouldn't admit it, but in fact he hadn't been able to think about it until that day. The three elven lords just talked a little and Elrond tried to lead the conversation to more basic issues until his friends sensed that the healer was almost completely spent. They were worried about him, so they didn't push him harder. Erestor and Glorfindel just looked at each other silently, but did not say a thing, leaving Elrond with warm words, assuring him that all was well with them.

Elrond noticed his friends' good intentions and in his heart he thanked them for being who they were. He was back in his Last Homely House, he thought, considering then about the name he'd given to his home. The Last Homely House, he mentally repeated, feeling his heart ease as it had not in a very long while, knowing that it was the perfect name for his sanctuary.

* * *

><p>When Glorfindel and the twins arrived at the training camp one afternoon, the other boys of the group did not hide their surprise. It had been nearly a moon since the brothers' return and this was the first time they had been seen outside of the big house.<p>

The pupils looked at each other, and they had many questions they wanted to ask, as well as many stories whose truth they wanted to confirm. However, the look their master launched at them was more than enough of a warning of what they could or could not say. Since the ruler's family's return, the mentor had cautioned his students about what they might or might not be questioning the two brothers about, especially Elrohir, whose journey had been the most arduous.

So they held themselves in check, and confined themselves to greeting their friends, whom they had sorely missed. The twins also seemed happy to return to training, although no one truly understood why they yet kept their strange vow of silence.

Wooden swords, informal banter, laughter; it was what composed the end of that mild winter afternoon. Elladan got tired of training with the sword and grabbed his little bow, distancing himself and starting to send his arrows to a target placed on one of the pillars of the far field. Soon Glorfindel stood beside him, offering some instruction.

Meanwhile Elrohir was using a training sword to exchange blows with a group of elves. The younger twin always approached even the more informal of those trainings with utmost seriousness, though he did not let it show. In fact he would rather duel with older elves, those who had left the wooden swords for a while, and only appeared to help their master in training the younger students, but Glorfindel hadn't allowed them to fight against the little ones today. Elrohir was annoyed with that fact, because he saw in it a clear protective maneuver he deemed unnecessary and inconvenient.

However, when he knocked away the sword that was in the hands of the third friend who was willing to face him, and accomplished the deed in record time, the atmosphere, which had so far been mild, turned a little gray.

"Hmm, our sailor came back with a lot of energy," joked one of the older students, realizing that Elrohir's opponent was flushed and breathing heavily with the rapid action of the Lord of Rivendell's son.

"Angahor." Glorfindel's call warned of where he was, and the young elf swallowed his playfulness before the reproachful tone of the master. Beinion, however, another older student, who closely followed Elrohir's performance, stayed there when the other veterans left the place of training to receive Glorfindel's instructions in the adjacent field.

"Come on, Elrohir," he teased, raising one of the wooden swords. "Just a quick fight while Glorfindel is distracted." They had not parted friends the last time the twin beat him in training camp, and the fact that he'd lost his last fight to Elladan, thinking he was Elrohir, had not appeased the feeling of enmity between them.

The twin's dark eyes moved toward Beinion, and then Elrohir carefully checked the mentor's distance, recognizing at the very moment that they'd been said that Beinion's words were meant to provoke him. Rather than back down, however, as would have been wise, he accepted the challenge, approaching the older elf now with sword raised.

They looked at each other for a short moment, but before the first blow, Beinion made use of the distance from their master to make a small provocation.

"Let's see if you fight better now than you did with the sword you stole, little boy."

Everything then happened quickly and before Elrohir could figure out why, the same damn picture was again in his mind. The man in the swamp, the insults he used, that voice...

"_You disgraceful little boy!"_

"Beinion!"

"I did nothing. I did nothing," shouted the elf, already kneeling beside his fallen opponent. Glorfindel did not wait for any excuse, grasping Beinion by the shoulders and almost throwing him aside. Elladan was already close to his brother, holding his hand and placing the other on his chest. "Let me see him, Elladan."

Elladan let his brother's hand drop, but did not move away, while Glorfindel cautiously rested his palm on Elrohir's face, on which now began to emerge a huge welt over the cut that Beinion's sword had made. Even with it being wooden, the sword had damaged the twin's white skin. The wound luckily had not caught the boy's eye, landing a little beside it and ending just below the corner of Elrohir's lips.

"He did not guard himself," Beinion said innocently, already standing behind his master. "I do not know why."

"I said the veterans would not fight with the younger ones today. Am I speaking in some orc dialect?" Glorfindel asked, irritated. Then he paid no more attention to the other justifications that had followed the first, his concentration being focused on the pair of eyes that were opening again, already showing an undeniable expression of pain.

"Slow down, elfling," he warned, when Elrohir, realizing where he was, sat up quickly. "Come on, let me see it," he said, trying to hold the young elf's face to better analyze the wound.

But Elrohir dodged him, as if he did not want to be touched anymore. His eyes were still somewhat confused. He looked around and when he found Elladan, he focused on him instantly. The older twin understood the silent request that only he could hear, so he helped his brother to rise.

Glorfindel followed the movement, very uncomfortable. He felt that since the child's return, Elrohir had not been treating him in the same way. He was distant and elusive and that was unnerving to the blond elf.

"At least allow your father to see the wound. You are not yet recovered well and here you are already injured again. He will not like hearing of this," he said when he saw the brothers move away without any request for permission or gesture of farewell. "Elrohir," he finally called, dissatisfied with the brothers' undisciplined attitude in front of the other pupils. It was true that they had been through a lot, but they had to relearn how to fill their seats if they still wanted to occupy them. The elflings stopped, but only Elladan turned to his mentor, which satisfied the blond warrior even less. He then looked to the older twin, sighed and said in a warning tone, "I want you to take him to your father. Have I made myself clear, Elladan?" he asked. He got a quick nod in response before the two brothers continued their path toward the main house, the youngest clearly leaning on his brother for balance.

* * *

><p>It was almost dinnertime when Glorfindel finally broke free from his duties and went in search of some rest and news. He had just passed through the main door of the big house when he met Elrond leaving the office with one of the council members. The counselor went away after a brief greeting to the blond warrior, who barely waited any time to ask his friend if they could go back inside.<p>

"How is he?"

"Who?" Elrond asked.

"Elrohir."

"He is well," the dark-haired elf calmly replied, his attention fixed on a document in his hands. "We just received an updated map of the northern part of _Ered Luin_. Do you want to see it or can I pass it to Erestor?"

Glorfindel glanced quickly at the document, then took it from his friend's hand without actually seeming as if he wanted to grant any of his attention to it right now.

"Leave it with me. Tomorrow I'll give it to that bookworm," he said, and both friends exchanged a tired smile. "Do you think I can see him? Is he really fine?"

"Who, Elrohir?"

"Yes, Elrond." The blond elf became slightly perturbed. "I know that accidents happen in training camp, but they've just come back and..."

"Accidents?" Elrond frowned and then a disagreeable idea came to mind.

"Do not tell me Elladan didn't bring him to you?"

"Elladan didn't what?" Elrond leaned closer, already holding his friend's arm. "What happened?"

"I knew it!" Glorfindel exploded, walking angrily away. "And I told him exactly what to do. I tell one of them to not fight with the veterans and he did not seem to hear me, and then I tell the other where to go and he doesn't do that. I'll give up being their mentor if they continue to disobey me like this. I have to warn you in advance, Elrond, that I'll have to give them both a punishment. The worst thing is that no sooner had they arrived and..."

Elrond's face was of total incomprehension as he held his friend's arm again.

"Glorfindel, what happened in the training camp?"

Glorfindel interrupted his own complaints, focusing inward, as if he wanted to calm himself down. Then he dropped his shoulders, moving his face in a gesture of utter outrage. He also couldn't believe or accept his role in what had happened.

"I turned away for a moment to give the veterans' their instructions, and when I returned Beinion had overthrown Elrohir in a duel. It looked like he hit him in the face with a wooden sword. It did not seem serious, but Elrohir was unconscious, which worried me," he reported. "I told Elladan to bring him to you, but maybe your firstborn thinks he is already a healer himself,' he said, wisely adding that comment with a wry smile. He expected to imply to his friend that if the older twin hadn't followed the instructions he'd given, perhaps it was probably because the youngest was already well.

"I'll see to him," Elrond said, not waiting for any more explanation. He was trying to give the children some space now, avoiding excessive demonstration of concern, deferring questions and other inquiries that he knew one day he would have to ask. But this matter required his attention as a father. He had already started to walk away when he heard his blond friend's voice call after him before he reached the stairs.

"Elrond. I'm sorry," Glorfindel said, visibly annoyed by the fact that the incident had happened when the boys were in his care. "I really was not paying attention to the boys' intentions. If I had realized…"

"What nonsense!" Elrond made a brief motion with his right hand to emphasize his words. "These things happen. It was not the first time, nor will it be the last."

"First time for what? The first time for Elrohir to get hurt on the field, or for your children to disobey my orders?" Glorfindel tried to play, feeling that his friend's conciliatory words were more to make him feel better than to represent a father's supposed indifference.

Elrond grinned in an unconvincing way.

"Well... the first option, I think. Because I count on you to give them the punishments they deserve. Recovered or not, they have to learn to accept the decisions of those who are responsible for them, to obey orders, or we would not be preparing them as we should."

Glorfindel understood the gravity of those words, but also was satisfied by what he read in their meanings. It was good to know that his friend had such confidence in him.

When Elrond entered the room, he found Elladan sitting on his bed next to his brother's. The windows were closed and only the glow of a lantern lightened the place at all. Elrohir was lying on his side and did not move. The healer looked at his firstborn for a moment, then came in quietly. The older twin followed his father's footsteps with watchful eyes.

Elrond said nothing; he just walked around the bed and bent slightly to look at the youngest twin's face. Elrohir's eyes were closed, and he seemed to sleep. The wound the mentor had mentioned had become quite a dark and apparent welt, even with the medicament on it. Elrond recognized the exact choice of herbs that his eldest son had used, and that took away some of his concern. Elrohir opened his eyes when he felt his father's presence, but then closed them again. He seemed displeased that Elrond had discovered what had happened to him.

The healer kept looking at the youngest for a while, then turned to his firstborn.

"Why did you not bring him to me as your mentor instructed you to do?" he asked in a whisper, sitting on Elrohir's bed and placing a palm carefully over the younger twin's face to better feel the extent of the injury.

Elladan pressed his jaws closed, then lifted his chin toward his brother and the answer became clear to his father.

"You cannot allow patients to determine what is best for them, Elladan," Elrond said in warning to him. He knew there was no gravity in what had happened this time, but he needed to make the child remember this lesson.

The twin nodded resignedly, as his father had expected him to, and then he rested his hand on his chest in apology. Elrond felt sorry for his children, and he did not want to see them saddened. They had barely returned to their routines and had already been involved in a confrontation. It was a pity.

"Today you both dine in your room. Tomorrow you will also stay here," he dictated, feeling his heart sinking because of the need for this punishment.

All the firstborn did was to nod his head again, without raising his eyes. Elrohir, however, did not move, keeping his eyes closed as if asleep. Elrond looked at him again, then went to a knee on the mattress where Elladan sat and reached out to hold his son's chin to make him look at him.

"How would it be if your brother was hurt while on a patrol and decided he did not want your care as a healer? Would you do what he wished?" he asked, and when Elladan indignantly shook his head, more vehemently now, Elrond had to suppress a smile. He knew deep down that Elladan had not brought his brother to their father's presence because he had full knowledge of the severity of the cut; otherwise he would have done that. However, it did not cost anything to remind his son once again of the fact that his attitude was far from being an acceptable one, considering that such a decision was not up to him. He had been given specific orders.

"That's good. Then tomorrow you will write down all the reasons why you cannot let injuries by swords go without due attention, even judging them without apparent severity. In the late afternoon I will have your report on my desk. Understood?"

This time Elladan was not as receptive to his father's reprimand; actually it was very hard for him to disguise the frustration that this useless task awakened in him. _Elbereth_, his father could be severe when he needed to. He just pursed his lips, showing his upset, but with Elrond's eyes still fixed on him and still waiting for his answer, he merely nodded his head forcefully in agreement.

Elrond observed the child's face for a moment, then checked Elrohir's wound again, taking the opportunity to run his hand lightly over his son's cheek, trying to feel more than what he could already see. Being hit in the face and knocked out meant being with guard fully retracted. That did not make much sense for a learner as cautious as his youngest was.

"You will receive a punishment from your master, Elrohir," he said, trying to use a stern tone, despite the sad scene he saw. "You know that you must obey him, don't you? Is it very difficult for you to remember that? Shall I ask another warrior to instruct you?"

Elrohir opened his eyes that instant. Finally something seemed to have called his attention.

"Do you want me to appoint another instructor to you instead of Glorfindel?" he asked, repeating the question, trying to keep the same tone of voice that he had been using, even while noting the paleness of the boy's face. "There are other brave warriors who, perhaps, you may judge easier to obey than Glorfindel, even though he has known you since you were a baby."

He was not playing a very fair game, Elrond knew well. He would never put this threat into practice, but he needed to count on the weapons he had, so when Elrohir hastened to rise up on one elbow and shake his head negatively, resting his hand on his chest in an apology identical to his brother's, Elrond was satisfied.

"Well. Perhaps you might remember this the next time you get a clear instruction from him, Elrohir. To help you recall such things in the future, tomorrow I will have on my desk a copy of _The Warrior's Ethic Code_. Complete and legible," he added, and this time it was much more difficult to swallow the laughter, which the air of utter annoyance that appeared on his son's face tried to steal from him. So he hastened to end his visit with a quick '_So be it'_ in his best father's tone and left the room, where he would have the freedom to laugh if he wished to.

When the door closed, however, the air of discontent on the brothers' faces worsened, as if, now alone again, they had been reminded of the reason for this whole situation. Elrohir sat down embracing his legs and resting his head on his knees, and Elladan went to his brother's bed putting his arm around Elrohir's shoulders.

"_You should tell him what happened, Ro,"_ he tried to advise. "_He thinks everything is fine."_

"_Everything is fine."_

"_It is not. You cannot sleep. You have had these terrible nightmares every night since we arrived home."_

"_I will not tell him anything."_

"_Why?"_

"_Because I don't want to talk about it."_

"_You think he'll tell Glorfindel what happened to you, don't you? So you do not want to tell ada_."

Elrohir's face hardened with that comment, but then he shook his head.

"_It will pass,"_ he said. "_A person can't keep dreaming of the same thing eternally."_

"_And if it does not pass? And if something happens again like what happened today?"_

"_Nothing is going to happen. That idiot Beinion distracted me. I'm not thinking about it all the time. It was because of what he said ... He..."_

"_What did he say?"_

"_He said… He called me... by something... that... man had called me, too..."_

It was not worth repeating. It was not worth thinking about. That's what Elrohir thought and stopped himself from finishing the sentence, but the tremor that shook his body seemed to contradict what he wanted to preach as truth to his brother, so Elladan embraced him a little tighter. Elrohir leaned his head on his brother's shoulder and sighed.

"_You cannot let his teasing bother you anymore. You know Beinion; he does not play fair. He has not liked you since that day when you tripped him in front of the entire group of veterans."_

"_It will be better for him to not attempt to provoke me again. This mark he gave me will be nothing near what I will do to his stupid face if he tries it again."_

"_Great. I think I'm going to start taking my first aid bag to the training camp."_

Elrohir looked down at his twin's sudden sarcasm.

"_I'm sorry, Dan"_

"_For what?"_

"_You were punished because of me. You will have to stay here…"_

The twin sighed, but then shrugged.

"_Nah, what's the fun in being able to go out if you cannot?"_

Elrohir smiled.

"_Yes... but having to write all those things for ada..."_

Elladan couldn't help a grimace.

"_Do not remind me. The worst part is that he always chooses something I do not know by heart. I'll have to ask him to let me go to the library to get that yellow book ... It's a long, long text... If I remember well…"_

Elrohir smiled sadly. He was feeling like the worst brother in the world.

"_But 'The Warrior's Ethic Code' is not the shortest_," Elladan said drolly, twisting his head around to look at the younger twin. _"Do you know it by heart or do you want me to grab a copy for you tomorrow when I go to the library?"_

Elrohir didn't answer for a moment, but soon his shoulders fell and he let his head drop back onto his knees, realizing his brother's words meaning better than he would like to.

"_Damn it..."_

* * *

><p>I'd like to say thanks again to all reviewers for <strong>chapter 25<strong>. It is really kind of you leaving a comment. Thank you so much:**Gwedhiel0117****, ****eliza61****, ****She Elf of Hidden****Lore****, ****DreamingIn2Eternity, ****world-classgeek****, ****Evereven****, ****Sivan Shemesh****, ****LalaithElerrina****, ****Oleanne, ****GreyLynx****,****Lia Whyteleafe**,** HarmonySoundown**.

I'd also liked to thanks **driftingpurpose; ****sokkergurl **and** Wtiger5**, for adding my story to their favorite list. Hope you continue reading and enjoying the chapters. Thanks again.

And many, many thanks to **Puxinette**, my wonderful beta and dear friend.


	27. The Last Thorns - Part 2

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

* * *

><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XXVII - THE LAST THORNS – Part II<strong>_

_An error doesn't become a mistake until you refuse to correct it." _

Orlando A. Batista

* * *

><p>It was over a moon before Glorfindel allowed the twins to return to practice. That was their punishment; a punishment the two brothers accepted because it was what was expected of them, even though they showed how upset they were. Since they had returned, Elladan and Elrohir felt as if it was too difficult to live their lives as they had before, that they could not act as if nothing had happened.<p>

Elladan spent much time with his brother, even when Elrohir was merely busy doing the things that he liked: his maps and other drawings. Elladan stayed by Elrohir's side because he was worried about his twin's sleepless nights, about the things that shook Elrohir's dreams, but mainly because his brother had not yet mentioned his intention to finally break their vow of silence. Elladan had gotten used to communicating like this, but he missed some special things, like listening to Elrohir singing softly when he was drawing, or imitating the sound of birds in order to draw them closer.

Elladan missed being able to communicate like everyone else, but he especially missed his brother's voice when Elrohir was engaged in the things he enjoyed doing. He knew that when Elrohir sang, it was because he was happy. Elrohir never sang anymore. Elrohir never said anything; even the communication by thought with his twin happened only in cases of extreme necessity. Most of the time, the youngest had a closed mind, as had always been his habit.

Yes, he missed his brother's voice.

* * *

><p>One morning after their punishment was over, they arrived at the field, which was bathed in intense sunshine. Glorfindel greeted them with an unhappy look, one that the twins understood very well. They were late for the third consecutive time. Elrohir pretended ignorance, but Elladan lowered his head. He did not want their mentor to think that he was sensing indifference from them both. The problem was that Elrohir barely slept every night, and they ended up oversleeping in the morning, always waking up with their mother calling their attention to the time.<p>

"The next time you two delay like this, I will take you both out of bed by the ears," the blonde warrior said as they passed him. Elladan showed that he understood with a slight bow of his head as a silent request of pardon, but Elrohir's eyes were already on the figure of Beinion, who was hiding a smile of satisfaction that the twin seemed to wish he could wipe away with an accurate punch.

The veterans were training with their metal swords now, and just the sound of them filled Elrohir with anger. He was so tired of using those damn wooden swords; he was so tired of this useless training. When would it be over? When would this empty feeling cease? Why, after all he'd been through, did he still feel that something was missing? Why did he still feel guilty about something?

When he finally picked up his heavy wooden training sword, and his eyes accidentally fell on his mentor, he remembered why he repeated those questions every day.

Glorfindel stared back for a moment, but soon the twin's eyes moved to another place. Since he'd arrived home, he had been avoiding any contact with his mentor, so much so that now he unconsciously avoided him, and when Elrohir was called upon, he would give short, terse answers so that Glorfindel's focus would quickly move away from him. He greatly feared that the blond elf might accidentally find out what Elrohir didn't want him to know.

_Elbereth_, what would he think of him if he knew what he'd done?

His father had accepted it, but had not told his friend, and Elrohir was certain that he had not told anyone else. Maybe because he knew what they would think of his son, what they would discover about him, about the kind of person he was.

For these and other reasons, Elrohir merely obeyed his mentor's orders throughout the morning without any discussion, overcoming obstacles one by one, all too easy, all too useless for him. It was as if he were condemned; he saw no more pleasure in any of this. He could not see pleasure in anything...

"Focus on what I say, elfling!" Glorfindel warned a young student who held a metal sword and was practicing a new movement he was trying to teach him. The blond elf helped him to stay in the right position again, standing behind the pupil and guiding his arms in a circular motion that ended with a perpendicular blow, followed by a new twist, this time in a smaller angle. The aim of the movement was to unexpectedly disarm a very astute enemy.

What an idiot! Elrohir thought, watching the elf repeat the same mistake, while their mentor rolled his eyes in frustration. Some people really weren't better fighters because they were so lazy and inattentive. It had to be true. Why did that fool have an iron sword and he still had to use a damn wooden one?

"What are you looking at?" the elf asked when he felt the air of disdain coming from Elrohir, even though it wasn't deliberate. Rather than hide his reaction and seek something better to occupy his mind, however, the younger twin instinctively raised his chin in challenge, the gesture saying more than any naughty answer he could give.

"Enough, Angahor," Glorfindel warned, seeing the exchange of glances between his two pupils. "Elrohir, go and find something to do."

Elrohir squinted, still bravely facing the other student that had a few good inches on him. Angahor was actually the best of the veterans, so Glorfindel never allowed him to fight with the younger ones. Elrohir liked him even less than he liked Beinion.

"Focus yourself, Angahor," Glorfindel warned again, and the young apprentice tried hard to accomplish his task. The problem was that, even trying to ignore the twin, he was now feeling intimidated by the look that Elrohir continued to target at him. "My good _Manwë_, this is not possible!" Glorfindel exploded. "You need concentration, Angahor! Pay attention to what you are doing, warrior! I'm not asking you to do anything that is impossible," he completed disgustedly, and then moved away to instruct another group. It was Glorfindel's habit to give the pupil time when he felt he might be pressing the student too hard.

But young Angahor did not make positive use of the time he had won from his mentor. Actually, to him, it seemed as if Glorfindel had given up on him, and it angered him more than he could deal with calmly.

"Then tell that despicable_ little boy_ there to stop looking at me," he complained. He was totally upset. And maybe that's why, when Elrohir's eyes darkened and rounded for a reason completely unknown to the young warrior, Angahor gave it a totally different interpretation and raised his sword toward the twin. "Come here, despicable_ little boy,_" he said, repeating the insult without notice. "Thief of swords. Come and see how to use a real one."

By the time Glorfindel saw what was happening it was too late. Elrohir had accepted the invitation with satisfaction and, to everyone's surprise, faced the older elf with the sword he had in his hands. Luckily, Angahor's sword, despite being metal, was not sharp, so the heavy wooden sword, in Elrohir's skillful hands, ended up being a proper weapon to duel with the other.

A circle was formed around them. Glorfindel even thought of stopping the nonsense, but seeing the image of his pupil bravely facing an opponent who everyone thought was the superior of anyone in the group of students, gave him pause.

In two more blows Elrohir was even more surprising, spinning the sword in the exact movement Glorfindel had been trying to teach Angahor and knocking his opponent's weapon away. The young elf did not even have time to admire or get irritated with the quality of the blow he had received, because Elrohir did not stop there, not thinking twice about kicking Angahor in the stomach and knocking him to his back. Actually, he would have gone further and hit the other student still on the ground with his sword if his master had not finally intervened. Only then did Glorfindel realize that the boy was not facing this as the simple challenge that it was.

"Stop, Elrohir! Enough!" he warned, while the elfling was shaking in his arms. It took a few moments for his warning cries and threats to have some effect. When at last Elrohir quieted, Glorfindel freed him, keeping him away from the other apprentice while maintaining a hand raised in an unquestionable sign that he would not allow Elrohir to continue his stupidity. "Are you out of your mind? By _Mandos_, what is this? What kind of group am I instructing?"

Elrohir gasped, totally blinded by hatred, and Glorfindel realized that the boy was still staring at Angahor, who was so intimidated now that he couldn't even look at Elrohir.

"He's insane. That's what he is. He must have been captured by orcs or something. You should arrest him. Put him in a jail. The trip he took stole the little sanity he had," said the unhappy young elf, then he raised both hands to his defense when he saw the boy furiously advancing on him again.

Elrohir would have reached his opponent if Glorfindel had not held him again. This time, however, the boy freed himself quickly, dropping his body lightly backward, and then pushing his mentor to move away from him. His chest heaved uncontrollably, his wild eyes turned to everyone else now. Glorfindel frowned, stunned. By _Ilúvatar_, the boy seemed the very image of Tulkas!

"Stop right there. Elrohir!" Glorfindel raised his voice, trying to hold him still. "This is the last time I'm going to say this. Do not make me use my hands on you and give you a punishment I've never before had to give to any pupil."

Elladan was already next to the youngest, his eyes round with surprise, but he had not dared to touch his brother. Not in the state he was in. Elrohir looked toward Glorfindel and the blond elf felt a chill run down his spine with what he saw. It was a glance of intense hatred. Where had it come from? Why had it appeared?

However he had little time to analyze the boy's face, because soon Elrohir turned and ran away toward the house, and Elladan did not wait for permission to accompany him.

* * *

><p>Elrond spent almost the entire afternoon away. He had left the house accompanied by some of the other elves of higher rank in the healing house, aiming to walk some of the paths in the surrounding forest in search of herbs and other raw materials for some specific experiments that they wanted to do. In fact he sought to occupy his mind with a little something that delighted him, thus perhaps forgetting for a moment, all the difficulty he was facing in readjusting to his old routine. He spent his days in his office, seeming to look at the same documents, but his mind was still on his children. He wanted to give them some space, but he could not stop thinking about them. They seemed very eager to be back in training camp, especially after Elrohir's little incident. But something about them, especially about Elrohir, still sounded like a false note in a song, which he could not yet identify, but which already made the tune sound off key.<p>

He had been waiting for quite a long while. He felt it more and more every day. He had been waiting for so long to sit with them, to try to know about their weaknesses, about what remained of all the pain that he knew they carried. The problem was that the twins were not making things easier. He even thought of taking Elladan for a walk in the forest with him, in the hope that, far from his brother and home, he could lessen the distance that was slowly opening between them. This way Elrond thought he could try to understand, through his older and more thoughtful son, how his youngest was feeling. That incident in training camp, though seemingly insignificant, was creating dark images in his father's mind. He really wanted to know more about what happened. However, Elladan had not seemed excited to do what in the past he'd loved most. He just didn't want to go and did not give any convincing reason for his refusal.

On his way back home that afternoon, Elrond felt the same uncomfortable feeling that seemed to stalk him at every moment: a fear of something that weighed him down, that he could not even convert into coherent thoughts. Actually, he was feeling helpless. As a father he knew he had to do more, and feared greatly that having let so much time lapse might not have been the best idea. He already had enough bitter fruits generated by his failures as a father...

He, the father... finally realized that he did not have as much control or understanding of his family's situation as he'd judged. He, the father, had not been able to give a less bitter solution to the problem from the very beginning, he had not been able to prevent his youngest from passing through all that he had; he had not been able to make the rest of his family trust him enough to wait for his return...

Maybe those were the feelings which had been robbing his peace. He felt he needed to be more careful, he needed to revise old principles; that he actually might need to learn to enact the most important role of his life...

He still needed to learn to be a father...

When Elrond was only a few meters from the house the unpleasant and unpalatable sensations grew heavier. Celebrian and Glorfindel were sitting in chairs on the porch, talking intently with one another. She was shaking her head and folding her hands over her lap. Her face was pale and worried and her blond friend didn't seem to be feeling any differently.

Within moments her eyes lit on him, and Elrond, even from afar, tried to read what had happened. But she seemed unwilling to settle for the exchange of feelings that always had united them both on any issue. She immediately stood up, taking a few steps forward, and stopped in front of the steps as if trying, as much as possible, to shorten the distance between them.

That was enough to quicken Elrond's pace. He climbed those stairs, his eyebrows drawn down into a V.

"What is it, Star?"

"You took so long!" Celebrian complained in a tone that Elrond could not ever remember hearing her use before, and she took hold of his hands once he was closer to her. "Something has happened to Elrohir, _meleth-nîn_."

Elrond paled, turning immediately to Glorfindel, who quickly raised a hand to calm his friend down.

"It's nothing physical," he said, without even rising from where he sat, and he seemed strangely unwilling even to speak. "He's fine..."

Elrond frowned even more, and his patience for waiting for an explanation was very short. Soon he pulled up a chair and sat down with an inquisitive look directed at his blond friend. He'd known Glorfindel for many years, dozens of winters and summers, and he'd never seen the expression that the warrior now sought to disguise. He was not only concerned; he was upset by something he did not understand.

For this reason, perhaps, when Glorfindel raised his eyes, offering little by little, the same detailed narrative of what happened that he'd offered to Celebrian, Elrond sank back into his chair as he realized that there was indeed a very serious reason for the color and joy disappearing from his wife's face.

Once he finalized the report, Glorfindel did not even look at the couple. The end of the story, which he reported in an outburst, did not seem to have helped him to understand it or even feel any better.

"I went up to their room," Celebrian added. "But I could not get anything out of them. Elladan was evasive and Elrohir would not even look at me. He walked through the place, like a wolf cornered by a group of hunters, the whole time I was there. He was so uncomfortable with my presence, so nervous. It looked like he was going to explode. I've never seen him like that."

"If only he could tell me what's wrong," Glorfindel complained to himself. "But all he's done is avoid me since he arrived."

Elrond's worried face changed subtly with that new information. "What do you mean? Haven't you had any contact with him since we've been home?"

The blonde elf sighed discontentedly. "Nothing compared to what we had before. He barely responds to my instructions; in fact he hardly ever looks at me. At first I thought it was because of fatigue from his travels, but then I realized it was something about me, definitely, especially considering that his friends were able to steal some laughter from him and involve him in a game or two. But it seems to take much from him to spare a single look for me."

Elrond fell silent for a moment, mentally repeating the story he had heard.

"What did you say Angahor had called him?"

"He did not intend it. Elrohir was provoking him, Elrond. You know I would not defend any of my students if the fight had not been fair. Besides the twins, Angahor is my most dedicated student. He's a bit arrogant, but he's never looked for trouble with anyone, especially not the younger ones."

Elrond raised his palm, shaking his head before Glorfindel's unnecessarily defensive speech.

"Just answer me, _mellon_. I won't do anything against the boy, you know that. I just want to clarify my doubt."

"I did not hear the discussion. But one of the little ones told me that he called him a _swords thief._ I think that's what set him off. Angahor should not have done it..."

Elrond rubbed his temple thoughtfully.

"He called him _little boy_ too. _Despicable little boy_," Glorfindel added in a bothered tone, with his eyes fixed on the scene from the past. He knew that Angahor needed to be punished properly. Provoked or not he should never have taken advantage of someone's pain to use it that way, at least not under those circumstances. Angahor had known well what he was doing. Elrohir was too frail to remember he was in a training camp, as at other times, in which the pupils exchanged taunts purposely to test their skills of war.

This time Elrond's face hardened, and his dark eyes seemed to search for an elusive idea that wanted to take him to a specific place. And he found, finally, a very convincing link for all those missing pieces.

"Ah, _Ilúvatar_..." he exclaimed, placing his palm on the left side of his face and rubbing it wearily. Soon Celebrian's hand was on his knee. He turned his eyes to her, and his wife realized that he seemed to have unraveled the mystery.

"Something's wrong, isn't it, Elrond?"

"Yes... Yes, it is, Star of mine," he said with a visible effort to contain his consternation. "I wanted to give him space after we returned home. I've been putting off dealing with sensitive issues, and now I realize that all I did was repeat the same mistake as before."

"What are you talking about, _meleth_?"

Elrond dropped his hands to his lap, resting his arms on his legs, his shoulders drooping with obvious worry. He shook his head a few times, unhappy, before turning back to his wife.

"The experiences that our son endured, _melethril-nîn_... They were not easy... Some of them we aren't even aware of.

"Do you think he is so violent because of something that happened on the trip? He received a serious trauma of some kind?"

"Probably," Elrond replied thoughtfully, already looking up toward the many windows of the house, as if searching for the twins' room from outside. "A lot has happened to him... I followed his footsteps, but not his heart... To be honest, when I was searching for Elrohir I had not the time to dwell on what he might have been going through, I was just desperately trying to find him. Maybe that's why my heart has not felt the courage I needed to try to guess what happened to him during all those days. I think I sowed the silly illusion that, as if by magic, the fact that we have returned to Imladris would do more for him than just heal his external wounds..." He sighed more deeply, and then his gaze was lost before a last sentence escaped from him. "In my heart, I always knew that some wounds... some wounds simply would never heal..."

"Oh, _meleth_." Celebrian said in an anguished voice. "Do not say that, please."

Elrond lowered his eyes and sighed.

"We cannot deny, my Star... He is just a child... A child who escaped from my hands again," he said in a sad tone, and the couple exchanged a look of guilt and agony that Glorfindel did not understand. "Elrohir had never seen the world, especially the sort of world that showed itself to him..." he added, then shook his head again. "I fear that the boy who left here... will never return, _melethril-nîn_... And we... Especially me, need to learn to deal with what this difficult world into which we brought our children, did to him."

"Oh…" Celebrian covered her lips with her slender hand, her eyes distant now.

"But..." Elrond continued, trying to deal with all the sorrow he was feeling. "Before that, we need to figure out how profound this change was."

Celebrian took a deep breath.

"Do you think he is suffering now concerning something we do not know?" she finally asked, as if afraid of the answer she might receive. "Some event or awful fact that he has not revealed?"

Elrond sighed again, then held his breath, before releasing it through parted lips.

"I believe that what is bothering him is not particularly connected to anything we don't know... I fear I actually know well what still troubles him... It's something about which he and I had talked, but maybe I was not able to explain it to him properly."

Celebrian frowned. She even looked, for a moment, to an equally confused blond warrior before a horrible idea came to her.

"Oh, _meleth_," she said plaintively. "Tell me, please, it has nothing to do with what happened in the marshes."

"What happened in the marshes?" Glorfindel asked immediately, even before Elrond could give his wife any indication that he wished to keep that from Glorfindel, at least for the time being. Elrond then moved his eyes to his friend and Glorfindel felt an unpleasant shiver down his spine, as he had felt when he'd looked into Elrohir's darkened eyes that morning. "Are you talking about the Midgewater Marshes? Did Elrohir shorten his path by going through that terrible place on his journey?"

"Haven't you told him, Elrond?" Celebrian asked in surprise. "Haven't you told Glorfindel what happened to Elrohir in the marshes?"

This time Glorfindel's expression of worry worsened. His attention went from the restless face of the Lady of Imladris to her husband several times, waiting for clarification that their mention of this mystery had raised. However, neither the dark-haired elf, nor his wife seemed willing to offer any effective response.

"Elrond," he then pressed.

The healer leaned back in the chair again, looking intently at his friend now. Then a moment of silence followed, in which Glorfindel realized that Elrond was trying to find the right words to tell him something, but was having no success. The unpleasant feeling only grew further when Elrond shook his head, seeming unable to tell Glorfindel the answer to what he had asked.

"Why haven't you told him?" Celebrian repeated the question unhappily. "He can help him."

"I know..." Elrond covered his face again. "But to tell Glorfindel this fact I must ask Elrohir's permission..."

"And to have it you would have to raise the matter again," Celebrian then concluded with a brief, but comprehensive smile. "But we have to do something..."

"Yes. We do." Elrond rubbed his face with both hands. Then his eyes were back on the now less confused blond warrior. Glorfindel, however, did not seem pleased with what he had perceived in their conversation.

"I thought you were aware that you need to share your problems, rather than facing them alone, Elrond," he noted in a warning tone that he didn't actually want to use. _Ilúvatar_, he was too worried. After Elrond's return, and their reaffirmed friendship, the pain of not having followed his friend on his risky journey had eased up a bit, but now everything seemed to come back more intensely.

And now the past was teasing the blond warrior, throwing him back in the same vortex of guilt and doubts from which it had taken him so long to leave. _Elbereth_, he should have done more sooner... But he could not. If only he had understood what had happened at the very beginning... If only he had been able to figure out which path they had taken... He did not even know that the family had departed at different moments, separated almost the entire time. He had sent patrols everywhere, in all directions, but dared not to follow any of them, having to restrain himself on staying in the city, waiting for more effective news, giving him a direction which he could actually follow.

Glorfindel sighed; trying to cope with the harshness of these memories, brought about by his most recent remorse, over not being able to help his friend when he needed it most; recalling the shock he had when he received a letter from Círdan and, after that, the arduous discussions with the council with Erestor by his side. Those times were very difficult; he almost lost his mind trying to convince those useless elves on the council of the gravity of what they had done. _Ilúvatar_, if he had not promised Erestor to control himself, he might have struck each one of those presumptuous lords for what they had done to that child, for what they had made the entire family endure.

"I'm sorry_, mellon-nîn_, Elrond said. "You are right; I think I've been quiet long enough... After all that my silence has generated, I should have learned this lesson that fate wants to teach me."

Glorfindel heard Elrond's voice, and his eyes focused on the sadness that was reflected in his friend's darker eyes. He bit his lower lip when he realized that his earlier comment had not been of great service. He tightened his jaw, wondering which would be worse, shutting up as Elrond had been doing when faced with a problem, or spitting truths and half-truths to the four winds as he himself had been inclined to do lately.

"If you think I can help, maybe this should be the time. It is my desire, _mellyn-nîn_." That's what his heavy heart allowed him to say, while he looked at the couple alternately.

Celebrian offered a sad smile and Elrond took a deep breath again, as if trying to fill himself with courage.

"It will not be easy. Especially for you," he said.

"Just tell me what you want me to do and you'll see it done." Glorfindel was resolute and his decided tone fed Elrond's energy somewhat. The healer looked briefly at his wife, then stared at his friend with respect.

"I believe that, to do what is necessary, you will need to accompany me to the boys' room. I have to ask you to stay there with me, even if you feel that your presence is not desired, even if Elrohir lets it be known clearly that he does not want you there."

Glorfindel's face hardened.

"What have I done to him, Elrond?"

"_Mellon-nîn_, it's not what you think..."

"But you are pretty much reinforcing my suspicions."

"What suspicions?"

"That Elrohir has been hurt by me for some reason... I just want to know why. I just want to know what I have done or where I have failed, that created such a bad feeling in the boy's heart."

Elrond let the air escape through his clenched teeth, still looking at his friend with that same air that had come to bother Glorfindel tremendously. Rare were the times when the warrior saw his friend searching for the right words so carefully. So when Elrond looked back at his wife, as if giving up on his search, the blond elf was even more intrigued.

"Star of mine," Elrond said, and even in that phrase Glorfindel felt that the Lord of Imladris was using more care and concern in his voice than he normally did. "I need for us to be alone with him, _melethril-nîn_."

Elrond noticed his wife's disappointment, but she disguised it as soon as she felt his troubled gaze on her, and she dropped her shoulders. She did not want to admit that she felt like she had reached the limits of her ability as a mother. She felt as if she had tried using all the weapons at her disposal to convince her son to show her what was going on inside him, but she had not succeeded.

"I am sure he has felt himself fragile enough before you, my Star," Elrond explained. He did not want her to feel that she was not able to help her son. "In your presence he will try to seem stronger, as he has been doing ever since we arrived home."

Celebrian parted her lips before this possibility that she had not considered yet, and that seemed more sensible than she would like to admit. She was eventually able to swallow this bitter conclusion that Elrond had just pointed out to her.

"Please, my star," Elrond pleaded, subtly touching her face.

She pressed her lips together, still apprehensive, but finally nodded.

"Ask someone to call me if you need me, _meleth-nîn_."

Elrond mirrored her gesture, then he finally stood up and placed his hand on his blond friend's shoulder.

"Will you come with me then, _mellon-nîn_?"

* * *

><p>I'd like to say thanks again to all good friends who had time to read <strong>chapter 26<strong>. You have no idea how important your comments are. Thank you so much:**She Elf of Hidden****Lore****, ****DreamingIn2Eternity, ****world-classgeek****, ****Evereven****, ****Sivan Shemesh****, ****LalaithElerrina****, ****Lia Whyteleafe****,**** Glory Bee **and **Wtiger5****.**

I'd also liked to thanks **SparkyTAS****, ****BrokenForYouSpilledForYou**, **aredellith** , **driftingpurpose;** **GreyLynx, ****sokkergurl**, for recently adding my story to their favorite/subscription list. Hope you continue reading and enjoying the chapters. It would be great to receive your opinion one day. Thanks again.

And many thanks to **Puxinette,** my fantastic friend and very very patient beta.


	28. The Last Thorns - Part 3

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XXVIII - THE LAST THORNS – Part III<strong>_

_It is an illusion that youth is happy, an illusion of those who have lost it._

**W. Somerset Maugham**_  
><em>

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><p>Glorfindel didn't say a thing, but stood up immediately; his face, however, was of one who goes to war against his will. He followed his dark-haired friend closely, while they slowly climbed the steps that led to the twins' room with mixed feelings of apprehension and urgency, which at once contained and accelerated his steps. They looked at each other a few times along the way until they finally faced each other before the boys' room door. Overcoming that last obstacle was also among the most arduous actions for those warriors, but once there Elrond entered slowly, this time without knocking at the door.<p>

Through the opened window entered the last rays of the sunset and the evening breeze of the first days of Spring. Elladan was sitting on his own bed, with his legs folded beneath him. Elrohir, however, seemed still to be doing the pacing that his mother had described earlier. He stopped in his steps when he saw his father's figure.

Elrond continued his path without hesitation. His face, though, was not as austere as the children had expected to see. However, when they recognized who accompanied him, both brothers paled almost in the same instant. Glorfindel entered without looking at either of the twins, positioning himself near the door with his hands behind his back.

The first thing that Elrond was forced to accept was not the easiest, because the younger twin, realizing what was to come, gave his back to the newcomers and stood quietly in front of the window. His shoulders were stiff, and remained this way, even when he held the windowsill and began to sway forward on his toes and back on his heels, as if trying to calm down.

Elrond took a deep breath. If he could choose, he would prefer never having to deal with the matter that brought him to this room again. But it was his role and now he realized how bad his delaying to fulfill it had been. For this reason, he walked slowly to his youngest son's bed and sat.

"Come here, Elrohir," he finally called and waited a few moments, but the twin did not move. "Elrohir, you know we have to talk."

More silence.

Elrond sighed, realizing the difficulties of the situation.

"Come on, Elrohir. Come and sit here so that you can talk to me. Let us understand and solve the problem that bothers you," he said, but all he got was the image of the boy's body stiffening even more, still in front of the same window.

The elf lord exhaled. Elrohir had never been a child of easy temperament. Shaping his behavior and directing his character since childhood had always been a task full of surprises and unexpected events. But he was a good boy and had never disrespected him as directly as he was doing at this moment.

"Come_, ion-nîn,_" he tried once more, removing from the tone of his voice any sign of reprimand, thus perhaps encouraging the child.

Elrohir just closed his eyes and tightened his jaw. And Elrond felt that what the boy really wanted to do was to cover his ears so that he could not hear his father call him anymore. _Elbereth_, he was angry in fact. It was no wonder that his attitude had aroused such concern in his mother.

But in some aspects Elrond was an experienced father, at least when he focused himself as he was doing now, and as a father he always had some cards up his sleeves, cards which he did not always wish to use, but that time would eventually force him to play. He pondered the situation for a time, then moved his eyes to his firstborn on the next bed. Elladan did not even move, keeping his attention forcibly on the details of the quilt on which he was sitting.

"Elladan," he called, not liking it, but obliged to make use of one of his cards. "Go be with your mother, please _ion-nîn_."

Elladan raised surprised eyes, analyzing his father's features for a moment, but he didn't seem able to read what was there. Elrond's face was indecipherable, with no trace of disappointment or outrage, no single hint of what was coming. His father wasn't even frowning.

"Without delay, boy," he added, his attention once more on the other child at the window.

But Elladan didn't move and to Elrond he seemed to be repeating mentally his father's warning. He knew his firstborn understood what he'd meant. Elladan knew he should obey and that was what he saw in the child's eyes, even when the boy risked a glance at his brother. What worried him, however, was clearer; Elrohir did not seem to care about his departure and that was not a good sign.

Even so, Elladan looked directly at his father once more, frowning as if risking to question why he should abandon his own room. He had a reason for this. He and Elrohir had never been reprimanded separately before, even if only one of them was guilty of something.

Elrond understood the child's questioning look, so he took the opportunity to plant a few more seeds that could perhaps help in his quest for the truth.

"I need you to leave, Elladan. This night, and any others which might be necessary, you must sleep in one of the guest rooms," he said, then his eyes were fixed again on the figure of the youngest at the window, trying to analyze what his words aroused.

And he finally got a reaction, as soon as he had finished the sentence. Elrohir lowered his head and Elrond noticed his son's eyes slipping toward his brother on the bed. Elladan also had his specific reaction; even surprised by the demand, he continued with the same puzzled look, seeking clarification for what his father had just said.

Elrond felt a hint of pride to see his firstborn argue about a decision, since he seldom did. He should have known. Elladan only put himself in a defensive position like this when in fact he was not the person he wanted to defend.

"I need to talk to your brother, Elladan. And if to do that I have to separate you two, unfortunately I will. Elrohir is not giving me any better alternative, _ion-nîn_."

Elladan's face was expressionless for a moment, and Elrond could see a glint of sadness slowly settle in his darkened eyes. He knew that, in his child's heart, his older son did not have enough experience to understand what role his father needed to put him in, in his search for the truth.

"Go now, my boy. Trust me... I hope that at least you can trust me, _ion-nîn_," he said then, and perhaps because of the meaning of this request or the more austere look that followed it, the young elf felt he was already pushing his luck and there was no way left to him at this impassable crossroads. He then threw his feet over the side of the bed, compelled to obey, as he always had been, but his eyes were of someone who falls into a trap by his own will.

Elrohir, who until then struggled to feign inattention to everything around him, finally seemed anxious, realizing that his brother had given up his resistance and had decided to do his father's will. He started to follow his brother's hesitant movement, and when Elladan stood up and directed a look of apology at him, the younger twin knew how serious his father was being.

Perhaps because of this, or some other fit of madness that later he could not explain, as he has not been able to explain almost everything he did or felt of late, Elrohir quickly grabbed one of his twin's arms, before he could get away. Still not a word escaped from him, but his father could read, unfortunately too well, what the boy's distressed expression was conveying.

_Elbereth_, why did his father want him parted from his brother? What would he tell him that Elladan could not hear? Why were they being separated? He never wanted to be away from his twin again.

Elladan was surprised, but seeing his brother shake his head with such conviction and distress, he could also understand his twin's message, so in desperation he directed a look to his father, who had no difficulty translating the children's request to stay together.

Elrond breathed deeply, but his face did not change. He seemed to know exactly what he was doing, even though only he knew how much it hurt to do so. Glorfindel, who watched the scene, now loosened his hands and was trying his best to keep himself just a spectator in this sad story.

"If you want your brother to stay in this room, Elrohir, you will have to sit here and tell me what happened. Otherwise I will keep you both apart until you feel the need to communicate with me, even if it is only in the same manner as you do with him," Elrond said quite seriously. He silenced his heart as much as he was able to, when he saw the boy's body stiffen again as if he had been struck. Elrohir then leaned his forehead on his brother's shoulder. His fingers were so tightly gripped around his twin's arm that Elrond admired the fact that the pain had not forced Elladan to ask Elrohir to free him.

But Elladan stood still. And both his father and his mentor realized he was now trying to mentally convince his twin of the better course of action. Elrohir just shook his head, half-heartedly at first, but then agonizingly, in a clear denial to whatever was being suggested.

Elrond waited a few more moments.

"Get out, Elladan, please," he imposed his voice again, appropriately using more force this time.

It took a painful moment before Elladan showed his intention to obey his father, and finally then Elrond's maneuver seemed to work, because Elrohir shook his head again, at first just clinging even more to his brother, but finally releasing him. Elrond first thought that the youngest would allow them to be separated, but then Elrohir's next step was in his father's direction.

The healer observed the approaching child with patience, while Elrohir practically crawled toward him and sat heavily on his brother's bed beside his father. Elrond tried to ignore the extremely disgusted and counterfeit expression behind which the child had decided to hide himself, and he looked at his son carefully. Soon the dark clouds and the bags under the boy's eyes caught his attention, and he lamented that after his arrival, his plan for helping his children had been more effective. _Ilúvatar_, how long had the boy suffered with him being unaware? How many times can one person make the same mistake?

"Bring your board to me, Elladan, please," he directed his eldest son, who then answered promptly, approaching with the stone slate he'd won from Erestor and a piece of chalk. Elladan used it often to exchange information with his father and mentors. Elrond thanked him after picking it up and waited for his child to move away again.

Elladan dragged his step unsurely across the room, but he ended up eventually standing alongside his mentor, who felt a certain relief to see him seek his company. When Glorfindel placed his hand on his shoulder, Elladan sighed deeply. He wanted it all to end, so that everything would be solved once and for all. He was so worried that he'd not even realized when his mentor had pulled him closer, protectively covering his shoulders with his arm. When he raised his eyes, Glorfindel offered him a small smile, reassuring that, for the first time in this troubling part of their lives, there was indeed some hope that everything could be as before.

Elrond then raised the board in front of his son, who'd kept his eyes on the floor since he'd sat down and did not raise them, even when he shook his head to say that he did not wish to make use of the slate. The healer placed the stone and the small piece of chalk beside the boy looking a bit unhappy with his son's maneuver. He knew that the communication between them both would be much more difficult without the aid of writing.

They were silent then, while Elrond continued to analyze the details of Elrohir's image in search of what was out of place, of what he could do to fix the problem, the words and actions that might actually be of some help. He continued to wait, but the stilted quiet that had been generated during that period of silence only made the little tremors he felt in his son's body increase. Elrohir clasped his hands together now. It was as if he was waiting for a quite severe reprimand, but at the same time looked sick and tired of being reprimanded, of not being understood.

Coldly analyzing what the boy had done, he really deserved a reprimand. Elrond knew what the correct one was. However, the situation was extreme and completely opposite of all that, he, as a father, and Elrohir, as a child, had ever lived through before. Everything was converted into a very sad story, and each new facet of it that Elrond could read gave him more reasons to feel that words of condemnation or reprimand would be the least course that would offer any real usefulness, especially if he wished to not shake the child more than he was. The healer also realized that his actions now should not involve the pressure he had been using until this moment.

It was left to him to fulfill the role of being a father.

Elrond then lifted a hand and placed it fondly on his son's knee.

"_Rohir-nîn_..." he said quietly, as if he enjoyed the taste of those words in his mouth. "I need to ask your mother to stop calling you that," he completed, and his son lifted puzzled eyes with the unexpected tone of his father's words. "I think there is too much weight on your shoulders for your mother to keep thinking that you are her warrior, isn't there _ion-nîn_? I think I also have to stop thinking that you'll be my captain and give you the opportunity to be who you want to be... Do you want to leave your training, my child? Do you want to take another direction in your life?"

Elrohir felt his jaw drop, reading in his father's insinuation a meaning that was not the intention of any of his actions. Stunned, he shook his head, not even daring to think about the possibility of not becoming a warrior. _Elbereth_, that was what he had dreamed of since childhood, what had been the focus of each practice, what he thought of when he saw each weapon. What if he could no longer be a warrior? Who would he be? He could not be anything else; he could not imagine following any other path.

So when his father took Elrohir's face in his hands, the boy looked at him carefully, swallowing his sorrows and troubles, silencing the hatred that grew within him as much as he could, and concentrating on what he expected to be the new instructions he would receive, his deserved punishment. He would do what his father wanted; he would copy the entire library; he would never touch any weapon without someone's authorization; he would fight with wooden swords however long it took and without complaint; he would never look for confrontation with the veterans. _Ilúvatar_, he would fulfill any punishment he received, as long as he did not have to abandon the training camps.

But Elrond had no intention of giving any punishment to the boy, so when he realized what drove his son to look so anxious and apprehensive, all he did was just hold Elrohir's face for some time, offering his energy of peace, compelling him to relax. Then he dropped his hands and took the boy's hands in his.

"Do you still want to follow this path you chose, child? Do you still want to be a warrior?" Elrond asked, and gasped when his son quickly moved his head in the affirmative. He looked at the young elf with care and concern, then tightened his hold on the hands he held. "So, _ion_, if this is your wish, we must see that certain issues are resolved before other problems hamper your way," he said carefully, caressing his son's hands with his thumbs. "You know something is wrong, do you not, my boy? I think there are some unresolved issues that still need to be discussed, child, so that you do not suffer anymore, and likewise do not suffer because others do not understand your pain."

Elrohir now looked intently at his father, trying to understand what those words meant.

"I am talking about the Midgewater Marshes, child." Elrond was clear then and held the child's hands a little more tightly when, in an apparent reaction to that negative memory, he tried to loosen them from his father's grasp. "Elrohir... Listen, my boy... Maybe my words were not enough to empty your heart of the feelings that took root with the experience you had," he continued, now seeking the child's eyes. Elrohir was already breathing heavily, visibly annoyed by the mere mention of this subject. "_Ion-nîn_... I think maybe we should tell your mentor what happened. What do you think?"

There was no time for a negative response, because Elrond's idea appeared to function as the fuse of a bomb inside the boy. Elrohir stood up violently and moved with such conviction that Elrond grabbed him, fearing what he might do next and bringing his son closer to him.

"Peace, peace, peace, my child," he said, as Elrohir struggled in his lap now. Elrond had an arm twined around the boy's chest, while the other hand held his head, holding him against his shoulder. Elrond was totally surprised and displeased by only now realizing the state of total exhaustion of his son. "Child... do you realize that you have no energy left? Whatever you feel is consuming you. Stop fighting against us. You know we do not want anything bad to happen to you. Trust me, trust me, child. Trust in the love we have for you, do not doubt it. Let us help you... Allow your mentor to join me in this aid, which you know you need, my beloved child... Do not doubt his love too."

Glorfindel, who had moved slowly into the room, upset with what he did not understand of the conversation so far, approached then even more intrigued, sitting cautiously in the place left by his pupil. When Elrohir noticed his presence he closed his eyes tightly, now pressing his head against his father's shoulder. Soon his body was shaken by sobbing that immensely disturbed the healer.

"Shh ... Peace, _ion-nîn_... Peace... You need to believe in us again, child. That's why you suffer... Because you feel you are alone. But you are not, my boy, you are not alone. We are at your side and we will not leave you, no matter what should happen."

Elrohir took a deep breath then, but could not calm down. All he did was keep shaking his head, unhappy, occasionally trying to loosen his father's hold again, but Elrond would not allow him to. When he finally felt the other hand on his leg, a mixed feeling of fear and longing hurt him so deeply that he felt that the last piece of his your heart would crumble.

Then, gradually, without even searching for it, a remnant of courage began to tease him. Despite all the pain, all the fear, he wished he could look at Glorfindel like he had before, even believing that maybe this would be the last time that his mentor would look at him without knowing what his pupil had become. Elrohir raised his eyelids slowly. Yes, he wanted to look at Glorfindel before his mentor knew what he had done, before he knew what kind of creature he had become. Certainly Glorfindel already distrusted him, especially after seeing him do what he did this morning.

Glorfindel's face, however, was not of someone who distrusted anything. He was more concerned than Elrohir had ever seen him be before. By having his look at last rewarded by the boy, the blonde elf hurried to reach out and hold the pupil's hand.

"Elfling, what happened? Tell me. I want to help you."

Elrohir still gazed at his master, enjoying the opportunity to have his attention before everything went back to being too heavy. He was tired of being afraid, tired of looking for something he no longer recognized. He was so tired. After that, he slowly closed his eyelids and there seemed to be nothing in him anymore. There was no outrage or fear or desire to run away.

Glorfindel continued looking at his pupil; he was worried as a master, but also a friend. His eyes then looked for Elrond's. The lord and lady of Imladris had said that he could help them. He wanted to help. He wanted to do something and he wanted to do it now.

Elrond read Glorfindel's request quietly and nodded. He was also tired of looking and waiting for opportunities to do something, so he lifted his right hand to the warrior, who at first did not understand, but still he leaned forward, until his friend's fingers almost reached his face.

"_Closer, mellon-nîn, please_," Elrond said, and Glorfindel noticed that he actually heard him speaking inside his mind. Only then did he realize the reason for the physical contact. He wanted to share with his friend not only the opportunity for a confidential discussion, he wanted to show him something. Glorfindel was surprised, but did not think twice about allowing it. Only when Elrond placed cautious fingers on his friend's forehead and temple did Glorfindel feel a twinge of apprehension, but the shadow of hesitation he saw in the healer's face made him mask his own uncertainties.

"_Don't worry," _he mentally said to his dark-haired friend. "_Just show me, mellon. Show me what I need to see."_

Realizing what was about to happen, Elladan walked quietly and sat on the edge of the bed, and Elrohir opened his eyes slowly, only to close them again, even more afraid than ever when he realized that he would be unable to stop it from happening. That's when the brothers felt a silence invading the room as they had never experienced. It was a profound silence, as if the very birds had stopped singing, as if the river had stopped running, as if the whole world had stopped in place.

The process of allowing Glorfindel to see what had transpired in the marshes did not take as long as Elrohir thought that the scene might demand. When he felt his father move his hand away from his mentor again and place it on Glorfindel's arm, the twin was invaded by a sense which was different from everything he had felt so far. He realized, for the first time, that Glorfindel knew, for good or for evil. What remained of the truth had been disclosed, and he was no longer its slave; he was no longer the slave of fear of revelations that were to come. He was free, free to bear his guilt, free to suffer the consequences that might arise, free to be hated. Free... He was free… at last.

There was just one thing missing for him to definitely accept the feeling of freedom. And it was in thinking about this last information that he used the remaining shred of courage it took to open his eyes, moving them slowly toward his mentor.

Yes, he needed to know what Glorfindel's eyes said. That's why he slowly lifted his gaze to look for that precious information.

And he could immediately sense what he'd feared. _Elbereth_, Glorfindel had seen everything, everything he had done.

Glorfindel had seen him raise his sword, the sword that he'd stolen and reformed without the permission of its owner; the sword he carried as if it were his own, the sword he had taken when he had run away. Glorfindel had seen him raise it and slice the man's head off.

Glorfindel had seen him kill a man...

Glorfindel had seen him kill a man and run away...

And now Glorfindel was looking at him...

He was looking at him intently...

Staring ...

But... there was something in that look...

There were...

Tears ...

"My good _Ilúvatar_..." he heard his mentor say.

Glorfindel was crying...

The mentor rubbed his face hard, breathing noisily. His hands looked heavy as they came up to engulf the face Elrohir now could not see.

What was he thinking? He seemed angry... Angry... He must be angry and disappointed. Was he not angry with him? Angered by what he had done?

The ancient warrior took a deep breath, and finally he looked at the boy, whose face had lost its color. Elrohir now could not stop looking at his master. His body was tense again, even with his father's hands stroking his arm slowly. Glorfindel realized then that he was in a delicate moment, a moment in which a word could change all the concepts of someone's life.

_Elbereth_, sometimes it was too difficult to be so important to a child...

It was too hard... But... But it was also too good to know that he was still so important, and that was the reason that had forced Elrohir apart from him. No. Elrohir had not ignored him for lack of affection or respect. He did it for exactly the opposite reason.

And now, for that reason, the boy's lips trembled, his eyes were fixed on him. The blond warrior could not help shaking his head with disbelief in what he had just seen. This child had been attacked by a man, twice his size and armed . An opportunistic thief who tried to kill a child because of a damned weapon. A cunning thief and coward, who could have stolen the life of a child because of a damned sword...

Glorfindel got stuck in those thoughts, his mind replaying the scene over and over again. At seeing each moment that transpired, the warrior shook his head harder, unable to stop imagining Elrohir there, ridding the miserable being of his head with a sword that was too large and heavy for him in his small, bare hands, and then watching the man's body fall into that filthy water full of insects. _Ilúvatar_ forgive him, _Mandos_ understand him, but he wished with all his heart that he had been there to do it for the child; he wished with all his heart to have appeared there, even had he needed to be transported by an eagle or something of that nature. He wished that Elrohir could have avoided that situation... that horrible scene with which he would have to live from now on...

It took a few moments until he calmed down. When he finally managed to do so, he realized that Elrohir had closed his eyes again and turned to bury his face in his father's shoulder. Elrond cradled him now subtly and quietly.

Ah, his little wisdom! Glorfindel reprimanded himself mentally. He was so angry! Probably his silence and his reaction of exasperation were misinterpreted. He shook his head then, stretched his arm a bit and touched the young elf's leg with affection. He needed to say something besides the barbarities that were circling around in his mind.

"Do you know who went through that swamp after you, Elrohir?" he asked, and the boy reluctantly reopened his eyes. "Your father... Shortly after you... And after him, your mother and your brother. Who knows how many others? That unscrupulous creature could have victimized any of them. He could have caught them off guard. He could have attacked a caravan with women and children. He might have surprised someone less fortunate and with less expertise than you have."

That was his best master's tone, but in his heart all he could continue to do was try to silence the barbarities that he actually wanted to say. His heart continued to yell other follies like "_Mandos_ ... I would have plucked the head off that disgraceful being with my bare hands... I... I swear I would ... And I would have felt enormous pleasure in doing it..." But these words were only for himself and not for the boy who had already judged himself guilty for too long. He kept looking at him, then ventured to raise a hand and touch Elrohir's face, satisfied when the young elf no longer evaded his touch.

"I'll reinforce a lesson to you that maybe your father has already told you before me, elfling..." he then said, looking calm and keeping his hand on Elrohir's face. It quieted his heart now to realize that the warmth was returning to the boy's so white skin. "This is a truth which every elf, including myself at times, needs to remember. I offer you a feeling that is known as _The Warrior's Pain_," he added, holding the boy's hand now.

Elrohir remembered his father's words in the swamp, when he'd heard the expression for the first time. He took a deep breath then wiggling his nose to quell the desire to shed more tears. He no longer wanted to cry, he wanted to hear his master, even if he was going to give him a reprimand.

"Sometimes we have to do what we do not want to do, or perhaps something we're not trained and prepared for," Glorfindel explained patiently, letting himself be drawn into those dark eyes. "But inside of us there are some feelings that cannot be forgotten. If you take someone's life, defending yourself or someone else, you still will be an assassin," he continued carefully. "However, if you do it, knowing that you acted without any choice, you still feel the weight of the act in your heart and regret the life you stole... If that happens to you, Elrohir, then you are a warrior."

Even with Elrohir trying to stop them, the tears started rolling down his cheeks again, momentarily preventing his mentor from continuing his speech. Glorfindel looked at Elrohir, containing his own emotion, then he started to wipe the boy's face. The child's eyes were still fixed on him and shone as he never had seen them shine before.

"What you need to remember, elfling," he continued, trying to give his voice a less potent tone than he had been using so far, "is that the pain symbolizes the respect that the warrior has for the creation of _Ilúvatar_ that is lost. The pain symbolizes the respect for life, for the right to existence of all creatures. This pain has no other purpose than to remind you that your attitudes have to be fair," he completed, but before the slight twitch of the boy's eyebrows, added: "What I'm trying to tell you, silly elfling, is that the pain cannot shake you to the point of compromising your welfare, to the point that it makes you the victim; do you understand?"

Elrohir parted his lips, but then, translating the reason of that reprimand, lowered his eyes. Glorfindel, however, hastened to hold his chin, looking at the young elf's pale face again. He didn't want to just calm him down, but wake him up, pull him finally out this pain.

"Stop suffering, Elrohir. Stop suffering. If your anguish is because of what you did, there is no reason for regret anymore. If it's for me or for any of your loved ones, there's even less reason. I will not deny that sometimes I feel like wanting your skin, when I remember how much you risked yourself. I can hardly imagine it without it making my head spin... But... _Elbereth_, fool of an elfling. Don't you realize what you did? Don't you realize the courage you had? Where were you able to get it from? I do not know what kind of nonsense you are thinking about yourself, but I assure you there is no truth in it. For the good memory that your grandfather left among the stars, elfling! You cannot imagine how anxious I am waiting for the day everything returns to normal, so that you will be able to tell me how it was to ride Ulmo's waves."

Elrohir continued to stare at his mentor until the joke Glorfindel made finally sank in and slightly raised the corners of the boy's lips. But tears were still making their way down the cheeks of the young elf. He wiped them now, resting his head on his father's shoulder, who strengthened the embrace he offered.

Glorfindel continued analyzing the scene he saw, trying to see if he could harvest seeds that had been planted by all that had transpired. Elrohir was now cradled lightly by his father, and he occasionally took a deep breath, as if he still contained tears he needed to shed. The old warrior of Gondolin sighed. He still pitied this boy, so full of courage. He thought about all of this child's pain, which had arisen because he had been tried with stiffness by a council that did not understand him. He did not want to judge this young elf with rigidity. Not now and not for a significant amount of time in the future.

"I'm proud of you, you troublemaker. Of everything you have done. Of the courage you had. Seldom have I seen such determination in my life as a warrior, and I've never seen it in someone as young as you, boy. I'm controlling myself not to go shout from the rooftops, proclaiming I'm your mentor. I'm very proud of you," he said, and a sincere smile followed that truth. When he realized that his comment generated a new spate of tears, which joined those that were already on the quite dispirited young face, Glorfindel felt that it was too much. He pulled the mature and surprising child from the arms of his father, doing something that he hadn't done since long ago, bringing him onto his own lap and hugging him like he was in fact a little boy.

Elrohir was surprised, but then he threw his arms around his master with the same urgency, not believing what he was feeling. He had waited, longed, imagined how it would feel, if indeed it would ever come. But it had come... that feeling that the battle was ended... a feeling that could quiet his heart, that the pain would end, that he had filled the emptiness again.

And that night, after many seasons, he managed to sleep soundly without any dreams; there was no sword, no island, no downtrodden warrior, no man killed in a swamp. Nothing came to haunt him.

On the balcony of their room, their father and his blond friend shared a bottle of wine that night, chatting casually about past times and willingly watching over the sleep of the two brothers.

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><p>I'd like to say thanks again to all good friends – and new friends - who read <strong>chapter 27<strong>. You made my day. Thank you so much:**UKClaire, e****thuil, Shaka85, melissamed, DreamingIn2Eternity, world-classgeek, Evereven,****BrokenForYouSpilledForYou, Sivan Shemesh, LalaithElerrina, SparkyTAS **and** Lia Whyteleafe****.**

I'd also liked to thanks **Once. . ****, ****aredellith** , **driftingpurpose;** **GreyLynx, ****sokkergurl**, for recently adding my story to their favorite/subscription list. Hope you continue reading and enjoying the chapters. It would be great to receive your opinion one day. Thanks again.

My biggest thanks to my patient friend and beta **Puxinette.**


	29. My voice, after yours - Final Chapter

_Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings and all its characters and sceneries belongs to JRR Tolkien_.

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><p><em><strong>CHAPTER XXIX – MY VOICE, AFTER YOURS<strong>_

"_Your voice is a caress I do not know if I deserved."_

Tere Penhabe

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><p>Celebrian smiled when the brothers came downstairs to the main room the following day. They had slept until nearly lunch time and now seemed eager to partake of the first edible thing that met their fingertips.<p>

"Be polite, Elrohir!" Celebrian warned the youngest, when she saw him move around the table, take a piece of bread and shove it completely into his mouth. "We'll have lunch, you sleeper. Do you not see that the table is already set?"

Celboril, the family cook, smiled at the boys, seeing them already taking their seats, pulling napkins from beside their plates and picking up the silverware. Around them the family also settled. Elrond sat at the end of the table and Celebrian to his left. Across from her sat their two sons; Elladan near his father and Elrohir beside his brother. Glorfindel and Erestor were the last to arrive.

"A family lunch. Glad to see you all here. A pity that Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel are not among us today," commented the cook, when the last lords took their places. Glorfindel had taken the chair at Celebrian's hand, while Erestor sat across from the youngest twin.

"It's been some time since they have been here. My father's heart is with us, even though he would rather be here himself. It was hard to convince him that he should return to my mother's side." Celebrian smiled, sliding her eyes past the members of the family she had built with her husband, but in her mind adding to it the nurturing image of her parents. "At least our wise lords are with us today. That's good, is it not _ionath-nîn_?" she said, now looking at her husband and the newcomers. All three of them had spent the last few days so wrapped up in their respective business that they had not been able to share a meal with the Lady of Imladris and her children.

"We had many issues to deal with during those days, my good lady," commented the councilor in his formal tone. "So much paperwork did we receive. Believe me, eating in the library is not very pleasant."

"Neither is it hygienic," teased the blond warrior, taking his napkin from the table. "That place is never clean," he completed, and winked at the twins as soon he heard the barely audible snort of annoyance from the counselor that he'd expected. Erestor, as was his style, had tried to ignore the provocation, pretending to pay attention to the dishes that were placed on the table.

The brothers smiled, but soon they were imitating their dark-haired mentor's attitude. Celboril was an excellent cook, and every day the dishes he served were displayed differently. He always arranged the food in a clever fashion on the plates. He kept repeating that the art was not only in the creating, but also in the exhibition of the creation. He told them as well that the pleasure of food began by first observing it, then smelling its aroma and finally in the tasting of it.

"How beautiful are the potatoes," Celebrian said admiringly. She had always made a habit of complimenting Celboril's efforts. She had an extreme respect for his excellent cooking.

"Glad you approve, ma'am. I wish you a good appetite," the elf said, leaning over in a brief bow and moving away.

That's when the formality of the meals always eased. Sometimes Celboril himself, when he had no other chores, sat at the table with them. But the cook never served anyone. Each person could do that, except for the twins, whom their mother always served.

That was what happened every day, at least when Elrohir forgot his manners, which was quite common.

However, since returning from the long trip, this was the first meal that the family had witnessed him being really interested in what he ate and what was around him. So when the boy extended the fork he had been eating with to serve himself some more potatoes, and his mother reprimanded him, a feeling pervaded the room that was very difficult for everyone present to decipher. Perhaps it was because of the words that had casually escaped from the Lady of Imladris' lips.

"Elrohir! Don't you know how to ask, little boy?" she said, and Elrohir's eyes had turned toward her then.

Aware of her mistake, Celebrian took a deep breath. At first she found herself completely helpless, but then she started trying to imagine how she could get around the situation without giving it any excessive value. She was afraid that that might call attention to her slip of the tongue and in the end be more harmful than helpful. After thinking about it, the elf-lady decided to take another route, even if it was also risky. Keeping her face steady as her son returned her look, she gazed back at him with an expression of disapproval; one that any mother would have shown in similar circumstances.

"Don't you know how to ask, little boy?" she repeated, showing him the big spoon with which the potatoes were supposed to be served.

The boy's eyes did not move from her face at first, and Celebrian finally felt a strange shiver run down her spine. Maybe she had gone too far. Maybe she had exceeded Elrohir's emotional limits. The signs of his trials were still very visible in him. However, instead of showing any reaction of revolt, she noticed that her son slowly inhaled, and then after a pause, he lifted his plate toward her.

Celebrian dropped her shoulders, relieved, but her eyes welled up with what she saw on her son's face. Elrohir gave her a look of apology, even with his plate raised. _Ilúvatar_ she loved him so much; she never wanted to be angry with him again, not even for an instant, especially for something this foolish.

"All right, here they are," she said, keeping herself from crying and putting a few more spoonfuls of potatoes on his plate for him. But he continued to look at her, even more dismayed. _Elbereth_, she had to control her reactions better; she needed to stop showing her pain so openly, or the boy would never get better. "And without so much pepper sauce on the potatoes this time," she said. Her smile was still soaked in tears, which she was trying to contain.

After putting his plate back on the table in front of him, Elrohir continued to watch his mother for a little while longer. He then offered her an equally unconvincing smile in return. Heedless of her earlier warning, he carelessly picked up the pot of sauce, putting several heaping scoops over his food.

Celebrian closed her eyes and smiled. The boy's capacity to always act according to his own will was unbelievable, even though he had clearly been instructed otherwise. She then smiled wider when she saw Elladan take the pot of sauce out his brother's hand with a look from which you could almost read the phrase: "_Hey! Nana said 'without much pepper sauce.' Did you not hear the first time?_"

Yes. Maybe this was one of Elladan's many attempts to appease the spirits, and maybe those words were exactly what Elladan was mentally saying to his brother because an air of displeasure settled on Elrohir's face, before the twins made the same small play of force that they always did: Elladan pulling the pot away with a laugh, and Elrohir trying to get it back at all costs.

It was this frequent, almost comical interaction between the twins that the adults at the table realized they had been missing so much, even though they knew they must now demonstrate their disapproval. A war game of two brothers on an ordinary sunny afternoon, a game that Elladan always won, secured by a disapproving look from his father. This time, however, Elrond showed his disapproval with more camouflaged pleasure than genuine desire to rebuke.

Once the small and pleasant impasse between the brothers was resolved, all returned to enjoy their meals quietly. Celebrian let out a brief sigh, then imagined that perhaps life would just continue calm and ordinary for a while, exactly this way: not quite perfect, but mild, free of large wounds or needs of consolation. Then she realized that she was just pushing the food around on her plate without having tasted it, separating the potatoes from the carrots, moving the vegetables, placing the meat in another position. Maybe Celboril was right to spend so much time on the simple act of arranging colors and flavors on a dish. Perhaps the mere assurance that everything was in its right place could be enough, could make a difference. And perhaps a sense of security could follow in its turn, one at a time, and then everything else would follow, those things necessary to the happiness of rebuilding a home. It was a bittersweet feeling, but it was better than many of the others that she had been experiencing of late.

The family meal seemed to continue without any great desire for longer conversation. Glorfindel's voice sounded at times, making comments that were more aimed at Elrond or Erestor than the others present. And the elves were engaged in a rapid exchange of ideas between one or another forkful. Yes, everything seemed in place. She looked up toward the window, and then tried to see in those rays of spring sunlight, which brought color to the land at this time of year, the will she needed to transform all her guesses into certainties.

It was then that someone noticed her sadness, even though she'd been trying to hide it. But the Lady of Imladris did not hear the comment at first, not even the speaker, who had made the query in a worried tone that was aimed directly at her. She thought she heard something, but it seemed so unreal that to protect her mother's subconscious mind she had hastened to deny the true fact.

But there was an awkward silence, an awkward silence that was full of meaning, which eventually forcibly dragged Celebrian back to herself, back to the place where she was, exactly when she heard again what she thought was only a reflection of her desires.

"_Nana?"_

_Elbereth_. It could not be true... That was the first word he had spoken, when he was still a baby. It could not be true... that this was his first word after so long a time. And he had just repeated it, at that very moment, looking into her eyes. He had called her... Like the first time... Was it really true?

Had he called her?

Had he actually… called her name?

_Elbereth_... He had...

But...

Why had he spoken?

"Yes… Yes, my dear... What is it?" she quickly asked in an insecure tone, while looking into a pair of bright dark orbs.

Elrohir inhaled, pressing his lips together, then he dropped his jaw and blanched as if only now realizing what he had just done, as if his instincts had been stronger than his control had been. He had let his heart speak, let it take the reins again. And now he seemed not to know what to do. He seemed not to know what the next step should be. His agonized eyes fell from her face then, settling hastily on the first thing that clearly was within his reach.

"I... I want some water, please," he said quickly, grabbing his glass and extending it toward Celebrian. In fact Elrohir was far from wishing that his mother would serve him water, because of the way his hand was shaking as he held the glass, and certainly Celebrian's hands, now firmly laced under the table, were far from being able to carry out his request.

There was a moment of silence again, a silence full of more uncertainties, but also full of expectation. It was as if everyone was holding their breath just waiting anxiously for a moment when they could breathe easily again. Yes, maybe that explained what seemed unexplainable. But there was no room for explanations or evasions or forced smiles. Soon the younger twin stood up, seeming to take back the reins of the unfriendly horse he was trying to ride, in a way that nobody had learned to do better than he, and he moved quickly around the table toward his mother, who was already waiting for him with opened arms.

And it was her embrace what he won.

But Celebrian won much more...

She had not even managed to rise from her chair, and now she had her head resting gently on Elrohir's chest. He was standing beside her, hugging her. She was feeling every emotion as she listened to the rapid pace of the boy's unconquerable heart.

Across the table, Elladan watched the scene with his lips parted. His father had taken his hand and that was the only certainty he had that he was not dreaming.

After a while in his mother's arms, listening to her words of affection and getting her cuddles, Elrohir walked slowly back to his place, picking up his silverware and focusing on his food, as if he really did not want to know what anyone else around him was doing. He also rubbed his face a few times, drying the fresh tears, but soon he was purposely focused on cutting a piece of his meat.

Elrohir was indeed much more courageous than he imagined. How was it possible? How was it possible to be surprised by someone you've known for so long? That's what Elladan thought, knowing how hard the act of finally speaking had been for his brother. When Elrohir raised his eyes quickly and caught his twin watching him, Elladan looked away, but soon he realized that Elrohir had not done the same, so he returned his gaze to him, thinking that maybe there was something he wanted to tell him, even in thought.

"Your glass is empty too." Those were his brother's words, which made Elladan frown, not understanding their meaning immediately. "Are you not thirsty? Don't you want some water, too?"

Elladan took a few moments more to fully comprehend the value of the door his brother was trying to open for him. He then turned to his mother and realized that her tears had not yet dried. She looked at him intently, as if she seemed to miss something… or someone.

"I... I'm thirsty..." he said, raising his glass and looking tenderly at his mother. "Could I have some water, please, _nana_?"

Celebrian returned his gaze, but instead of attending the request, she held her son's hand in hers, stroking his fingers and wrist a few times and smiling broadly, before releasing him and serving water to him as well as her youngest son.

Soon each brother was busy with his meal again, but this time the two of them continued eating with no more interruptions. The adults allowed themselves to just sit quietly, exchanging glances and nods of acknowledgment, and taking in, personally, the feeling of pleasure that this unexpected event had finally given them.

* * *

><p>From that day on all of Rivendell seemed taken by moments of extreme peace. Mornings started mildly, the birds appreciated the new forms of spring, the elves' songs echoed around the small squares throughout the city, and the Lord of Rivendell's twin children spent their days in the Library, before their old master.<p>

Perhaps in this last facet of life, things were much too identical to what had been before. At least for the upset Elrohir, who spent almost all his classes fidgeting in his chair with his eyes reflecting more the blue that teased him beyond the window, than facing the tasks assigned to him.

Erestor watched him from the corner of his eyes, occasionally invading the silence of reading with a small sound of disapproval, which soon brought the younger twin back to the pages he should have been studying. Actually, though covertly, the counselor felt sorry for the boy, seeing him serving again a penalty imposed by his father and his master of arms, because of the totally undisciplined attitude of the boy's last visit to the training camp.

Erestor didn't set himself against his friends' decision because he knew what had motivated it: A newly closed wound, bruises almost disappearing, a healing heart... Everything Elrohir was trying to work through required more than mere zeal to conquer. No, it was not worth the risk of placing an overload on the boy, since he was so recently recovered. Now they were much more aware of this than when the two brothers had first returned to their routines.

The problem was in trying to convince a young elf of this, who was very upset with the punishment.

However, a brief look of disappointment and a little tightening of his lips had been the boy's only outward manifestations of his frustration, when his father and mentor clarified why he would spend four long weeks without stepping into the training camp. The younger twin thought of trying to negotiate the punishment, because, in his naiveté and lack of belief in his patrons' concerns, he only attributed the punishment to his attitude of rebellion. However, the thought of bargaining against it would mean having to apologize to the presumptuous Angahor in front of the others, and that seemed too expensive to the young Elf, no matter what the motivation of the adults in charge.

The proud Elrohir was then resigned to the punishment, bearing day after day in the library with his always supportive brother, but every minute spent there was as if he were chewing a most bitter herb.

So when the blond warrior entered the library that evening, as he had at the end of each day of the two brothers' penalty, only the older twin's eyes turned to him. Glorfindel already expected this, especially after more than ten days of that routine. He just exchanged a disguised look of complicity with the other boys' mentor and settled himself in the chair before Erestor, absently watching the performance of little enthusiasm of the healer's children.

Soon Elladan rose, bringing Erestor a scroll with the exact copy of a very green map. That had been his afternoon task and he seemed relieved to finally have it finished. The pleased look his master accorded him also brought a little satisfaction to Elladan, slightly tempering the distress of one more tedious day of studying.

"Good job, Elladan!" Erestor used his words to always adequately enhance his approval with the execution of the task done well. He then turned his dark eyes to the other twin, and his lips twisted slightly to realize that all the boy's pitiful concentration had produced was something quite far from being classified as cartography.

Elrohir, when he felt himself being watched, just let out a long sigh of frustration. He'd heard the praise his brother had received, and this was not exactly how he'd wanted to finish this afternoon of confinement. Elladan had looked at him for a moment, then dropped his shoulders, showing how disappointed he was in him. He could tell that his brother wanted him to be a bit more careful with the looks and other manifestations of displeasure that he couldn't seem to keep inside. This annoyed Elrohir, making the end of this day even more frustrating that it had already been.

"From what I see somebody will get out of here after the awakening of the stars," Glorfindel said sarcastically. To Elrohir those words seemed even harsher than the ironic comments Erestor had been using to scold him for situations like this. "What happened elfling? You are the fastest designer of all your master's pupils, and now you are not able to trace the paths that you need to memorize?" He asked, and when the young elf frowned angrily, Glorfindel added, "What would you do on your next inconsequential trip through these lands, if you did not have at least a legible draft to guide you?"

The joke stole a look of surprise and resentment from the boy that no one had seen lately, but that did not touch Glorfindel. The blond elf just stared back into the boy's darkened eyes, then he threw another piece of parchment across the table, lifting his chin defiantly and wilting the boy's desire to give the answer that seemed to want to escape his lips.

"You can go, Erestor," Glorfindel said, without looking away from Elrohir, who, although visibly upset, did not give up doing the same. _Elbereth_, this elfling is really brave. "I'll guarantee that in the morning you will have on your desk the best map of this region you've ever seen."

Erestor's eyes continued to take in the scene for a moment. He definitely did not approve of his friend's methods on some occasions, but before this impasse, he didn't feel comfortable discrediting him in front of their pupils. For this and only this reason, he slowly rose from his chair, a little distressed. Before leaving, however, he put a hand on Elladan's shoulder.

"You can come, too, Elladan. Your work has been completed satisfactorily."

The older twin hesitated, glancing at his blond master. There was undeniable meaning in his questioning eyes that Glorfindel could have understood even if he'd had his back to the child. Actually, Erestor had made the invitation out of mere formality, because he knew as well as anyone where Elladan wanted to be.

"You can stay if you want to, elfling," Glorfindel said, without abandoning his mocking tone. "But you will not lift a finger to help this lazy one here."

This time Erestor thought it better to leave without observing the reaction of the younger twin. Elrohir was, without a doubt, his most troublesome pupil, and he did not want to carry to his pillow the look that the boy would surely direct to his master after Glorfindel's last comment. He merely bade farewell to his blond friend and warned the brothers with a quick "Behave yourselves, boys!" before crossing to the door and shutting it quickly behind him.

Elladan's eyes followed his master as he left, but then he stood where he was for a while. He had already risen to hand in the map he had done, and then he couldn't figure out which path to take. Occupying the chair next to Elrohir was definitely something that he knew Glorfindel would not allow, so he remained standing, facing his mentor with questioning eyes.

"Go get a book to read," Glorfindel advised, with a small hand movement that was not even accompanied by a glance. His attention was still hard on the figure in front of him. Elrohir had placed his hands on the table and seemed willing to ignore the mentor's command about redoing his map.

Yes. If his master wanted to see the stars awaken, he would give him more than that. Glorfindel could stay here until the sun came back to shine its veil of light on them.

Glorfindel's lips drew up, however, into a very subtle smile.

_Astalder_, the Brave. It was how Celeborn called his youngest grandson. A very fitting name.

Elladan felt the conflict of wills and that did not please him. He moved away, bringing a book with him to the table, so as to not add more reasons for disappointment to the already tense situation. He opened the book without even looking at it carefully and pretended to read. What was left to do? Just wait and hope that things didn't get more complicated.

But Elrohir began to feel the passage of time in a different way from his brother. Glorfindel was leaning back in his chair, showing his evident willingness to wait as long as was necessary.

Waiting. It was clear that the boy just could no longer stand to wait until he had his life back to normal again.

"I do not want to redo this damn map," Elrohir finally said, and his voice awakened an almost hidden surprise in his master. Everyone seemed so used to the children's silence that sometimes he and his brother were taken aback by the attitude of utter shock on the faces of some of them, when they heard either of the twins speak.

Glorfindel exhaled noisily.

"I do not remember having asked you this, elfling."

"I am no longer an elfling."

"You're acting like one."

"Because you treat us as such," Elrohir finally said, becoming brash. He was so tired of this punishment he could hardly continue acting in the way that he knew was his obligation. "Since I got here, the only thing I ever do is copy these damn books and maps, just because I cannot get along with those idiots who train with me."

This time Glorfindel did not answer so quickly. He kept staring at the boy for a while, before asking, in a tone completely devoid of the flippancy he had been using in their conversation so far.

"And why can you not get along with your friends?"

"They are not my friends."

"They are more than that, Elrohir."

Elrohir gritted his teeth in frustration, but the master's sentence confused him more than he would like to admit.

"What do you mean?" he asked with obvious disdain, turning his eyes to the window, beyond which the landscape had slowly darkened, as he tried to disguise his interest in the subject at hand.

Glorfindel waited to respond until the boy turned his eyes back to look at him. He knew that he would, so another smile almost escaped him when he saw Elrohir's eyes move in his direction, even though it obviously annoyed the young elf.

"What do you mean?" he repeated, now angrier.

The blonde elf took a deep breath, then exhaled in one motion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands fall loose between his legs.

"They are your soldiers, Elrohir. They are your soldiers, Captain. They are your soldiers, warrior."

Elrohir frowned, but soon his lips drew up in the same air of indignation that seemed to be his trademark, and he clicked his tongue, turning to look out the window again.

"Why don't you go play with someone else, Glorfindel? The things you are saying aren't very funny."

Elladan breathed in slowly, disguising his nervousness. _Elbereth_, Elrohir sometimes risked more than was necessary.

But Glorfindel gazed out the window then, since he did not intend for the situation to develop into a more serious conflict. He looked at the worried Elladan for a moment and even offered him a small smile before turning back to face the younger twin.

"For generations, many of the elves were born blessed with a gift of foresight," he said, nodding his head positively as he received Elrohir's unwilling attention. "Your father feels the direction of pain, the pathways of disease. He can predict how to rescue someone from ills, and he can sense some things that the future holds for some people, pain or joy."

The brothers looked at each other and then, uncertain about asking the next question, started rubbing their throats nervously. Elrohir wanted Glorfindel to explain himself, but he was too angry to allow himself to show interest in what his master was trying to tell them. Perhaps because of this, good Elladan played this role.

"And you, Glorfindel?" he asked.

The warrior let the silence invade him a bit before looking at the twins and answering:

"I see the warriors' fate. At least of some of them."

The younger twin parted his lips, but then he curled them in an air of disbelief or disapproval.

"The best or the worst?" He wanted to know, and his question stole from Glorfindel that characteristic laugh. That was Elrohir! When everybody expected a specific query from him, he always obliged them with that kind of question.

"Do you think I would be investing my time and knowledge in you, elfling, if I had seen you would be the worst warrior that would ever set his feet on the battlefield?"

Elrohir moved his face into a new air of incredulity.

"You could be trying to correct me. _Ada_ says that it is useless to see the future if you do not do something to change it."

Glorfindel laughed again, shaking his head. Ah, Manwë, Lord of the Breath of Arda, why do these children grow up so fast?

Elrohir, however, did not seem as pleased with that issue as was his mentor. He kept looking at Glorfindel and tolerating his sustained laughter for a while, before his little patience was finished again.

"I do not know what's so funny," he said, crossing his arms over his chest in utter disgust.

Glorfindel, once again, was undeterred. He continued with his almost sarcastic smile, lifting his lips and showing his very white teeth for so long, he judged the boy could barely tolerate looking at him. Then when Elrohir let out a snort of even greater contempt and moved as if to get up from where he sat, the blond elf said:

"Angahor will be in your patrol, he will be at your command one day," he said, and when he saw the boy frown and his face harden with renewed displeasure, he added, "and you both will help one another limitless times, and will save the life of another more frequently than I would like to see happen."

Elrohir felt his jaw drop, but any other of his reactions was swallowed by the end of his mentor's revelation:

"Angahor will be in your group, and Atarael and Arnamo and Ilfirion and Séretur and Cúndur and Earon, and Varyar and Laston, and Turo, and Herion... and Elladan," Glorfindel said with seriousness and every name on that list, including even many veteran students' names, stole a little more of the younger twin's color. "They all will be at your command, under your protection, at the mercy of your decisions, honored by your friendship, elfling," he added, and he finally reached out to grab Elrohir's arm tightly. "Boy, I have in my mind that your experience was not in vain. That although it has robbed you of good feelings in your childhood that should have lasted a bit longer, it compensated with some baggage that might in the future make you a mighty warrior... That's what I want to believe, elfling. I want to believe in the warrior you will become. I want to believe in this because I know that sometimes all may depend on your lucidity, Elrohir. All may depend on your experience, your caution, your good will toward them. So, you stubborn boy, wish your friends well, love them all as your brothers and get ready, because, often, it is only the friendship that you have with others that will unite you, that will save you from the worst life has to offer."

* * *

><p>The next morning, as soon as he entered the library, Erestor was surprised to find the two brothers already engaged in reading and writing. He paused for a moment at the door, wondering if he was awake or perhaps just walking in a strange dream. But once realizing his presence, the boys stood simultaneously in a synchronized movement which was characteristic of them.<p>

"Good morning, master," they welcomed him in unison.

Erestor remained where he was for a time, hoping he was hiding the feeling of utter surprise that had been roused him by the scene. He slowly approached, looking at the boys with attention, as if to assure himself that those really were the two sons of the Lord of Imladris.

"Good morning. Sit down, children," he said then, and again frowned to see the twins obey in another highly synchronized movement. He took a few uncertain steps, then took his place in front of the pupils. Before he could ask them what they were doing, he saw the map on his desk, which had been promised by his blond friend the day before.

"I also drew the Brown Lands, to complete the eastern region," Elrohir said, while his master's eyes admiringly scanned the excellent work they saw. "Is it correct, master?"

"It's excellent ..." Erestor blurted, surprised by the polite speech, then looked up at the boy, as he continued to think that the person that was speaking to him just couldn't be Elrohir.

Elrohir returned his mentor's gaze, and Erestor felt as if he were seeing something really new there, in those gray eyes, something he was unable to classify, but that pleased his heart. What had Glorfindel done after his departure? His pupils adored him so much that many times he had come to judge the blond warrior was some kind of hypnotist.

"Can we talk about the Brown Lands today, master?" Elrohir brought him back from his somewhat inconsistent reverie, and Erestor turned to focus his eyes on the young elf.

"The Brown Lands?" he asked after a moment. "What do you want to know, Elrohir? I hope you do not intend to make some dangerous journey to that region," he completed, failing to hold in a hint of sarcasm and now regretting not doing that, when he saw the boy sigh weakly. "I apologize. That was a nasty comment, I admit."

Elrohir looked down at the map he had drawn, still in his master's hands, then raised his eyes.

"I just wanted to know more about the Ents," he said, and his tone was not of a diligent student wishing to delve into the matter studied, but a tone that the counselor had not heard Elrohir use for a great length time: the tone of a child still yearning for another good story; for a moment of distraction.

Erestor's brows barely lifted, and he finally smiled, remembering how fantastic he found this age, which the twins were experiencing at present. One day they demanded their rights, as if they were the owners of the world; the next day they longed for a simple embrace, followed by a trail of unpretentious attention.

"So you want to know about the Ents?" The mentor let the smile remain on his face a bit longer. He also grew tired of these grueling days of arduous tasks and little pleasure. The smile he received from his pupils in response was the motivation he needed.

He then stood up, walked to the bookshelf looking carefully through the various volumes. He then pulled the little ladder over, to help him reach a large greenish binder on an upper shelf, which was slightly supported by a series of equally old books. Once having the book in his hands, the counselor, however, did not come back to the table where they'd all been sitting, he took another direction, going from this corner of the library over to the couch and then he sat on it. He placed the huge book on his legs with a sigh of satisfaction, but before opening it, he looked up at the two students, still seated, but who had followed each step of his master carefully. The brothers looked at each other and their smiles widened. Soon they occupied each side of their mentor, their eyes locked on those richly illustrated pages that they hadn't ever seen before.

"Well... Let's see..." he said, moving purposefully through the pages, so as not to steal the boys' chance to see the details of the pictures presented in the volume. "Ents are an old race that appeared in Middle-earth when the Elves did. They were created by Eru Ilúvatar, but some people say that Yavanna, when she learned of Aulë's children, the Dwarves, foresaw that they would be the enemies of the trees, so she…"

* * *

><p>And after that time, other times have followed, less laden with ill will and disagreements, most favored by the patience of both master and disciples, who now accompanied the mentor's thoughts and followed his instructions with the least possible objection.<p>

* * *

><p>When Glorfindel entered the room again, at the end of the brothers' thirtieth day of work, he was surprised to find them completely engaged in a common task that seemed to be giving them some pleasure. Neither of them even noticed his presence. They were on the library floor, both of them wrapped with twine and with bits of wood scattered around them. He walked closer and came near to Erestor, who watched the scene standing beside a shelf.<p>

"How was your day?"

"We've had a good one. We've studied the wind. So they are building an _indicator of wind direction_ to test some of Elladan's theories about the direction of the air currents in the valley."

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows admiringly. Normally he sympathized with the boys' unwillingness to attend Erestor's classes, considering that he had never seen anything so interesting in his dark-haired friend's lessons. Not until this moment.

"How did you get to this point?" he asked curiously, while Erestor offered some instructions on the placement of the arrows to Elrohir, who was busy trying to put them at the correct angle. The boy smiled then, seeing Glorfindel.

"We're doing a _weathervane_," he said, sounding excited.

"_Weathervane_," Erestor repeated with a smile. "Yes, yes, we can call it that too."

Glorfindel smiled back, nodding in approval. Soon the brothers were again concentrating on what they were doing, and their faces had that seriousness only seen in times when they were both completely absorbed in learning a new sword movement, that must be executed precisely. When Erestor approached the blond warrior again, he seemed to read what had gotten his friend's attention.

"They are _frighteningly_ efficient," he said and smiled when he received a simple nod as answer from Glorfindel, who was still very focused on the task he saw the boys performing as if they were grown men.

"_Frighteningly_ efficient," Glorfindel finally repeated. "Actually I do not know which of them surprises me more, since they seem to take turns in doing that day to day, when they do not do it together as they are doing now."

"Without a doubt. If fate does not separate them, they will really be a force like few have seen in the past."

That informal comment, however, brought a shiver to the blond warrior's spine. He took a deep breath, trying to lessen the feeling of dread Erestor's words roused in him.

"When are you both going to test this _apparatus_?" he asked in a joking tone that could hide the little apprehension that had just invaded him. Elladan looked up at Erestor and the master just raised his eyebrows as if instructing him to seek that answer on his own.

"Morning..." the older twin risked. "There is enough breeze here, so the wind should be stronger near the waterfall," he completed, and was satisfied to see the air of contentment on Erestor's face that he only offered when his pupils reached a correct deduction sooner than expected.

"So be it," Glorfindel said. "But I want you both in the training camp as soon as you have finished it, and I hope not to wait the entire morning. Try to get up early for this task you've arranged with Master Erestor."

Elrohir was so focused on the doing of the task he was absorbed in that he almost ruined the whole structure, when the comprehension of those words he'd heard reached his brain.

"Will we be allowed onto the training field tomorrow?" he asked incredulously.

"The four weeks' period has already ended." Glorfindel tried to give that information less relevance than it actually had. "You will have to divide your time between your two mentors again. No complaints will be accepted about it."

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other for a moment, then new smiles of satisfaction embellished their faces.

"At last!" Elrohir said, even more excited now.

"Perfect," Elladan agreed. "Come on, Ro, we have to finish this soon, so we can have dinner and sleep. We have to get up early tomorrow."

"All right!" said the youngest with conviction, and both returned to focus on the finishing of their little project.

Glorfindel kept watching the two boys for a while, then remembered the unanswered question.

"How did they get to this point?" he repeated to the dark-haired elf at his side. "Your lessons rarely involve anything this creative."

Erestor twisted his lips slightly.

"Since when do you attend to my classes to see how creative they are or are not?"

"I don't need to. Even the most foolish of elves who ever knew you would reach the same conclusion."

Erestor moved his eyes slightly to throw his friend a look of genuine upset now, but he met the same teasing smile as ever.

"Your classes are actually much more creative than mine, master warrior," he then said, giving up a more serious charge, as he always did in the face of Glorfindel's taunting. _"Move your legs, move your feet, move your hands, move yourself, creature!"_ Erestor loosely mimicked his blond friend's tone to offer evidence of his theory, and that was enough to throw the twins into a fit of laughter. There were few times when the counselor undid his mask of utmost seriousness, but when he did, it ever aroused immense pleasure in his pupils.

Glorfindel ignored the baiting, as he seldom did, his eyes now focused on what he was seeing, and it revealed to him something he had subconsciously long been waiting for. The two brothers laughed a little more, but when they realized they were being observed by their blonde master, they took a deep breath and just smiled back. Glorfindel sighed, feeling Erestor's hand on his shoulder. The two masters exchanged a brief glance, a mixture of satisfaction and relief filled them comfortably.

"Well..." Glorfindel was then forced to abandon what had just occurred to him, returning to disguise himself as the master he should be. "Do not be late or I'll pick you up by the ears," he threatened, advancing toward the door, behind which he could again surrender himself to the ideas that were visiting him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

><p>On the following morning the twins rushed through all of Erestor's assignments as much as they could and were able to get to training camp in time for its beginning, as Glorfindel had instructed them. They were determined not to resume the training activities with any of the misconduct that had gotten them in trouble in the first place, wishing to return without any bitter tastes.<p>

They came running through the trees, but soon they looked around themselves, confused when they realized that the place was empty. The boys looked at each other and looked to the sky once more before the older inquired, intrigued.

"Is it no longer here?"

"Of course it is. If it was in another field Glorfindel would have told us."

Elladan did not seem pleased with the answer; he let his gaze expand into the distance in search of some friends, but he saw no one.

"And now this." Elrohir pursed his lips in his upset. "Do you think Glorfindel went hunting with a group of the older pupils and did not tell us?"

"He would not do that ..."

"You're right..." Elrohir had to agree, but the empty field was giving him a very unpleasant feeling. When he turned to suggest to his brother that they go try and find their master, they saw Glorfindel approaching with the equipment. The brothers ran toward him.

"Glorfindel, where is everybody?" inquired Elrohir who, after receiving a reproachful look from his mentor, reformulated the question. "Where are all, _Master_?" He couldn't just rephrase the question; he had to ask it with his eyes rolled to the sky and his impatience more than known. He had not actually intended to slip in discipline on the first day, but he had been totally displeased to find the place empty.

Glorfindel frowned, pretending dissatisfaction with the boy's sarcasm, and then moved away.

"This morning there will be no training for beginners."

"What do you mean, there will be no training?"

"There will be no training. Which of these words you did not understand? Would you like me to translate them into another language? I don't know, Elrohir; you've not previously showed interest in studying other languages, new or old," sneered the master, walking through the field and adjusting some of the weapons that he always had at his disposal there.

"Oh, it was really very nice of you to have warned us." Elrohir snorted and continued to walk with the master.

But Elladan was still puzzled and kept looking around the empty field. He could not ever remember the boys not having training in any period of the year before.

"If we knew that you would make fools of us, we would not have rushed to finish our task near the waterfall," Elrohir added, remembering how much he had actually resisted the temptation to taste the sensation of those cold clear waters that they had visited. He just loved to swim there and had not done so only because he had promised to arrive here on time.

Glorfindel chuckled, while continuing to adjust the wooden swords and other weapons in their places, opening space on one side of the table on which the majority of the equipment sometimes stayed overnight.

Elrohir walked in the opposite direction through the field, shaking his head indignantly, still incredulous about the opportunity lost. It would be quite a while before he would have the chance to visit that waterfall again.

"It's warmer today than yesterday… and I don't think it is going to rain…" Elladan said, pointing to himself, still not understanding the reason for the dismissal of his colleagues. He then approached his mentor. "Master, why will there be no training for us today?"

Glorfindel stopped what he was doing, and then he brought forth a great package that would take up the space he had just emptied on the table.

"At last one of you is interested in something important," he teased.

Elrohir stopped in his tracks, realizing that this was something beyond the ordinary needling from the master. He went back and stood beside his brother.

"I have not told you would not train today."

"You said there would be no training for beginners," Elrohir remembered.

"You are no longer beginners," Glorfindel said casually.

The brothers looked at each other.

"Aren't we?" they asked in unison.

"No. No more training with the small ones."

"Are we going to join the older ones?" Elrohir asked, incredulous.

"Not yet. I need to prepare you better for that."

"Nah!" Elrohir let his arms fall noisily against his sides in frustration. "I knew it was too good to be true," he commented, already starting to move away again. "What will you do? Give us even heavier wooden swords?"

Glorfindel stared at the angry twin for a few minutes. _Elbereth,_ he longed for the day that the boy would be able to channel that anger, which usually grew out of absolute nothingness. If he was ever able to do so, Elrohir would be an invincible warrior.

"I said you are not beginners anymore." Glorfindel tried to pretend to ignore Elrohir's outburst. Then he focused back on the tied package he'd brought. Elladan's attention was on it too.

"What is it, master?" he asked, and only then did Elrohir come closer too, moved by his twin's puzzled tone.

Glorfindel let their expectations grow for a while, then slowly he untied the knots and exposed something that took the twins a few moments longer to believe was real, even after seeing it.

"_Elbereth…_" Elrohir did not wait, quickly picking up one of the swords that were in the same package.

"Are they ours?" Elladan asked, not even touching the remaining weapon, and looking at his mentor with a skeptical air.

Glorfindel rested his hand on the child's shoulder with a simple nod.

Only then did Elladan repeat the action of his brother, carefully picking up the remaining sword. It was the brightest one he had ever seen. It wasn't sharp yet, as training swords couldn't be, but it would be one day, by the hands of a good blacksmith, as soon as its owner was allowed to have it as a real weapon.

Nothing distinguished the two swords, except a small stone at the base of the cable, which disappeared once in the hands of its owner or holder. Elrohir's sword had a ruby embedded in it and Elladan's a sapphire.

Glorfindel sighed deeply; he had not told the boys which sword belonged to each of them, but, surprisingly, each one picked up the weapon that he should have. In secret, Glorfindel wanted to give Elrohir the same stone as that in Cirdan's ring and Elladan, the one that was in Elrond's.

Elrohir was unaware of such small details, but he wore a wide smile, the shine of which seemed to be reflected in the sword he was wielding and already moving in the air, feeling its weight, appreciating its sound.

"It's so beautiful!" he finally said, approaching Glorfindel again. "Thank you, master!"

Glorfindel smiled.

"Look. Someone can say _thank you_."

"Thank you," Elladan said, correcting his lack of manners, and Glorfindel smiled, placing a hand on the older twin's shoulder to show that he was just playing with them. Actually he had only intended to provoke the youngest twin, as he always enjoyed doing.

"You will train only with me during the mornings for a few days, then you will accompany the older ones in the afternoon. You will have to work hard until you are on their level. But I do not think it will take too long."

"I cannot believe it!" Elrohir spun with his weapon again, and like someone who seemed to explode with pleasure, he leaped into the clearing with it now and repeated a series of perfect movements one by one, actions he had learned by just carefully watching the veterans as they trained.

Glorfindel joined in the boy's excitement, disguising his admiration. Actually they could move into the older group whenever they wanted, since they were among the more skilled students he had ever seen and would have no problem adapting to the group. The blonde elf had chosen to give them some time and space just to find out how Elrohir would react. It was his first day of training after the incident with Angahor.

"So. What will be our first task?" Elrohir asked, raising the sword in his hand and turning quickly to deliver another blow. However, in the heat of his enthusiasm, he had not noticed his twin approaching. Elladan instinctively lifted his sword in his own defense. If he had not done it, his brother would have hit him.

Elrohir paled, feeling a distant memory come to darken his thoughts, as soon as the sound of the two swords reached his ears. He gripped the hilt tightly, its weight still being supported by his brother's blade.

Elladan felt his mind following the same path as that of his twin, recalling and reliving all of the pain and anguish caused by the finding of the sword that Elrohir had reforged. He looked up and saw his brother's lips tremble, while his fingers were losing their color, since they were gripping the hilt as tightly as they were.

That's when Elladan realized that there would always be times like this, multiple traps that fate would target, and it would be their decision to avoid them, be around them or, once in them, if necessary, free themselves... Always.

"On guard... warrior," Elladan said then, and Elrohir took a second longer to emerge from his trance. He parted his lips in surprise, but his face was soon peaceful in a different manner. There was no more urgency in his countenance, or agony, or any need.

"On guard… _toron-nîn_," he then said, with a small smile of thanks, which was soon replaced by a more appropriate mask of challenge. Soon the two brothers were spinning around on the field, giving their master a good demonstration that they would indeed be among the best warriors of Middle-earth, and in less time than Glorfindel had imagined.

* * *

><p><strong>THE END<strong>

* * *

><p>This is the end of the story. I'd like to thanks all these wonderful people who followed me, added my story and left a good comment. Their support helped me to continue. Thanks a lot to: <strong>UKClaire, ethuil, Shaka85, melissamed, DreamingIn2Eternity, world-classgeek, Evereven, <strong>**BrokenForYouSpilledForYou, Sivan Shemesh, LalaithElerrina, SparkyTAS, ****She Elf of Hidden** **Lore, Glory Bee,** **Wtiger5, ****Lia Whyteleafe****, **aredellith**, **driftingpurpose;** **GreyLynx, sokkergurl, **Once. . ****, **Duilin, Messissamed, Metoochocolate, The Pearl Maiden, Elf in a bottle, Raynagh, Pity-be, sbyte, Eliza61, Agie, Viresse, Patty P, HedgehogTheBlue, Faine Webbe, **Daisymall13, **Pipilo, **janelover1, **Gwedhiel0117, Marchwriter, **Arien Arlorwen, eliza61, **elrond peredhel**, Oleanne,** **Myriara, alexiana75 and buubaa.********************  
><strong>****

And my greatest thanks to********************** Puxinette, **********************a wonderful friend and great beta who trusted me and helped me to end this project. It meant a lot to me to be able to translate my story to English. I couldn't do it without her help. Thanks a lot, _mellon-nîn_.


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